


Relentless, We Survive

by Araceil



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Assassin's Creed Fusion, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animus-Penseive Shenanigans, Drama, Dumbledore's Army gets a little bloodthirsty, Ezio 2.0 Slutatron 2000 Golden Trio edition, Humour, LITERALLY, M/M, Magical Assassins, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Room of Requirement Deus Ex Machina, Umbridge isn't going to know what hit her, VOLDEMORT isn't going to know what hit him, baby assassins
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-04
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-02-23 21:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 20
Words: 87,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18710152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Araceil/pseuds/Araceil
Summary: We need somewhere to learn to fight...he thought.A place to practice... somewhere they can't find us...“...A place to fight the Ministry...” Hermione's voice whispered.A place to learn how to protect people...Ron's lips mouthed.A heavy wooden door appeared, the ageing wood so ancient it appeared almost black – if not for the single bright unaged golden design embossed upon its surface. A strangely stylised A without the middle bar, the base of the letter spiking out in only to curl in again like a pair of tongs, beneath it an almost bow shaped underline with three notches spiking out along its length, all contained within a circle.Three different desires blended into one open a different door to a new future, new possibilities, a new war, and the revival of a forgotten Chapter of the Brotherhood. It's about time the Wizarding World got a little freedom forced into it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I was quiet, but I was not blind.” –Jane Austen (Fanny Price: Mansfield Park)

They hurried along the corridor to the place Dobby had described to Harry, a stretch of blank wall opposite an enormous tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy's foolish attempt to train trolls for the ballet.

“Okay,” Harry said quietly while a moth-eaten troll paused in his relentless clubbing of the would be ballet teacher to watch them. “Dobby said to walk past this bit of wall three times, concentrating hard on what we need.”

The did so, all three of them, their faces screwed up. They turned sharply at the window just beyond the blank stretch of wall, and then again at the man-sized vase on its otherside. Ron had his eyes screwed shut, lips twitching with whatever he was thinking; Hermione was whispering under her breath, the hissing air between her teeth vicious and determined; Harry's fists were clenched as he glared directly ahead of himself.

 _We need somewhere to learn to fight..._ he thought. _A place to practice... somewhere they can't find us..._

“... _A place to fight the Ministry_...” Hermione's voice whispered.

 _A place to learn how to protect people..._ Ron's lips mouthed.

“Harry!” Hermione called sharply as they wheeled around after their third walk past.

A heavy wooden door appeared, the ageing wood so ancient it appeared almost black – if not for the single bright unaged golden design embossed upon its surface. A strangely stylised A without the middle bar, the base of the letter spiking out in only to curl in again like a pair of tongs, beneath it an almost bow shaped underline with three notches spiking out along its length, all contained within a circle.

Harry seized the heavy wrought iron handle and pulled, the door was incredibly heavy and he ended up having to use both hands to haul the four inch thick wooden monster open enough for Ron and Hermione to get their hands in and throw their own strength into the endeavour. They stepped into a long corridor of cold ageing stone, their steps echoing strangely as the trio moved in, hands already reaching for wands warily.

Torch brackets lit up, casting the chamber they stepped into in sharp relief, a huge chamber the size of the great-hall with six sandpits, weapon racks across the walls filled with swords, staves, spears, shields; a hundred and one weapons both known and not. High walls depicting tapestries with the same symbol from the door, and high above wooden rafters and poles, ropes and chains, hung from the ceiling interjoined with wooden platforms here and there that lead into _rooms_? At the far end of the hall were several hallways that split off and two spiral staircases that lead to a second floor balcony and another three corridors.

“Just how big is this place?” Ron murmured as they stared around in horrified fascination.

Harry hummed wordlessly. It was Hogwarts, he told himself, unless Voldemort was involved it was unlikely to actually be dangerous. But.... _but..._. He swallowed and nudged Hermione towards Ron, “You guys go left, I'll take right. Gunshot if you need help, referee whistle if you find something interesting. Meet back here,” he said, glancing to the room on the far right.

The two nodded and swallowed before heading down the corridor on the left, torch brackets lighting up the further they went in. Harry watched until he couldn't see them before turning to the right.

The corridor lit up as he walked in, moving silently as if treading through the Dursleys' hallways afterdark as he crept close to the wall, and peered into the first room he saw, torches igniting as soon as he did. Some kind of... medical bay? He straightened up warily, abandoning stealth (with motion activated torches it was kind of pointless, he acknowledged in the back of his head), and entered the long narrow room with its six single beds. Dark wooden frames, white sheets, basins, chairs, cabinets with small bottles and old fashioned tools, clean bandages, and several things on a table at the back he had only ever seen in a museum display on _muggle_ apothecaries. There were several books as well, in a glass cabinet on the left wall. Curious, he opened one up and pulled one of the leather books out, inside were diagrams of human anatomy, muscles and pressure points.

He slid the book back and left the room, going deeper into the corridor until he found the dead-end, and the two corridors that branched out. Both of them smelling... weirdly perfumed in all honesty.

...Was that running water?

Frowning, he went into the corridor on the left as it lead to a room on the right, a changing room. And got warmer. He stared in bewilderment at the wooden benches, the walls covered with shelves and baskets. It was, it was actually a bathroom. Some weird hybrid of Turkish and Japanese, he realised as he moved through each of the rooms, first into a dry sauna that immediately made him feel sticky with sweat and uncomfortable in his clothes as he quickly moved into another one that was a proper shower room with hot water, places to sit, and multiple shelves of soaps and cleaning products, a mirror and long table covered with hairbrushes and combs. The third chamber was a wet sauna, full of steam and places to sit. Then a tiled room with an icy cold waterfall and deep pool that he circled warily, not wanting to slip or fall in. It then lead into another room, this one full of raised baths and hot water, even benches with little baskets of oils sat next to them, and long lengths of perfumed linens and cloths hung from hooks on the decorative pillars. The corridor leading out took him back into the changing room, to a small corridor he hadn't noticed when he first walked in as it was practically against the wall as he walked in. So, it was a bathroom that moved in a loop?

The opposite side of the corridor was the came, only there were straight razors and sinks in the shower room with the mirrors as well as hairbrushes, meaning that was very much a gender divide but a completely unmarked one.

He made his way back to the large hall, spotting Ron and Hermione already waiting for him, joined by Ginny, Neville, Lavender, Pavarti, and Dean who were all looking around the room with awe and confusion.

“This place is something else!” Dean exclaimed spotting him, “Where did you find a place like this?”

Harry honestly didn't know how to explain, and whenever he tried, more people showed up, forcing him to start again. By the time eight-o'clock rolled around, it looked like everyone that had been in the Hogshead was milling around the room in confusion an fascination.

“Find anything interesting?” he asked his friends in an undertone.

“Dining room and a dormitory,” Ron grunted, eyeing everyone and doing a mental count. “We could probably house everyone here in the dorms with a handful of beds to spare,” he admitted softly, “Y'know, if things with Umbridge get any worse, it might be an idea.”

“What about you?” Hermione asked in an undertone as people began to turn towards them, seeing the three talking.

“Infirmary and baths,” he admitted making the two stare at him. He shrugged helplessly before looking at everyone around them and shaking his head. Exploring could wait until later. They needed to look like they knew what they were doing and exploring what the Room provided with a bunch of kids who had never been in a dangerous situation before in their lives wasn't safe.

Taking a breath, he flicked his wand out at the distant heavy door, slamming it shut, and dropping the bar down, locking them in with a very final and strangely dangerous yet reassuring thud and rattle.

“Welcome to the Room of Requirement,” Harry said firmly, swallowing down his nervousness and trying to force confidence into his tone. He probably only succeeded in sounding aggressive, and fought not to flinch. “This is where we'll be practising for the foreseeable future. Good job finding it,” he stated with a nod to everyone assembled.

“It's fantastic!” Cho said, several people murmuring in agreement, though more looked a little weirded out instead.

“It's _bizarre_ ,” Fred complained instead, peering at the walls like they had personally wronged him, “We hid from Filch in here, remember George? But it was just a _broom cupboard_ back then!”

Harry nodded, “The Room is one of the best kept secrets of Hogwarts. It becomes that what you need most, but only when you need it most. Now, I've been thinking about the sort of things that we ought to start and – er – ” He paused, spotting several people looking to his right, and saw Hermione with her hand raised. “Yeah?”

“We should elect a leader,” the Gryffindor said firmly and loudly.

“Harry's the leader,” Cho stated, looking at Hermione as though she were mad. And he felt his stomach do a little flip and wiggle at her support.

She nodded, “Yes, but I think we ought to vote on it properly. It makes it formal and it gives him authority. So – everyone who thinks Harry should be our leader?”

Everyone put their hands up, even mouthy Zacharias Smith, though he did it very half-heartedly.

He swallowed at the show of support, “Thanks everyone. Right,” ugh, his face felt hot, what was he going to say? Right, training. “First things fir – _what_ Hermione?”

“We should have a name,” she said, lowering her hand. “It would promote a feeling of team spirit and unity, don't you think?”

“Can we be the Anti-Umbridge Defence League?” Angelina asked hopefully, her cheeks dimpling with humour as she grinned.

Harry snorted as suggestions were immediately thrown out, everyone eventually settling on the DA, officially the Defence Association, and unofficially for 'Dumbledore's Army'.

“If we're done?” he asked with a half-grin of humour as everyone cheered to see the parchment attached to the wall with their new club name emblazoned across it. They all settled down, grinning at him but falling quiet, he shook his head before rubbing his hands, “Right, shall we get practising then? I was thinking, the first thing we should do is the _expelliarmus_ , you know, the Disarming Charm. It's pretty basic, but incredibly use– ”

“Oh, _please_ ,” Zacharias Smith scoffed, rolling his eyes and folding his arms. “I don't think _expelliarmus_ is going to help us against You-Know-Who, do you?”

Harry gave him a level look, “I've used it against him,” he said quietly, watching as the blond boy paused, “It saved my life in June.” Smith opened his mouth stupidly, his blue-green eyes wide, but unable to say anything. The rest of the room was very quiet. “But if you think its beneath you, you can leave,” he said, still quiet, with an open-handed gesture towards the door.

Smith did not move. Nor did anybody else.

Harry gave them a moment to digest that before nodding, “Please divide up and into pairs at the sandpits to practice, that way if someone takes a tumble they won't be hitting hard stone.” That's what he assumed the sandpits were for, a softer landing than they would have otherwise received without cushioning charms.

Actually – he quickly cast several of them on the corners and edges of the stone lined sandpits. They might have an infirmary, but that didn't mean anything when none of them knew healing magic, and he didn't want anyone hitting their heads on the edges of the pits.

Somewhere in the back of his head, he found it very odd to be issuing instructions, but not nearly as odd as seeing them _followed_. Everyone cast each other glances, and began to band together before moving towards the pits, they were just about big enough for three pairs to work while sharing. Predictably though, Neville was left partnerless.

“You can practice with me,” Harry told him calmly even as in the back of his head he turned the thought over and over again, Neville was behind his yearmates in a lot of magical aspects, his hand-me-down wand hampering him as much as Ron's had in second year, his self-esteem being another crippling factor. He was going to have to work with his fellow Gryffindor more than the others, because he damn well knew Neville could do it. He lead the brunet to the sandpit where Ron and Hermione were diligently already practising. “Right, everyone! On the count of three – one, two, three – ”

The stone chamber was suddenly full of shouts of _expelliarmus_. Wands flew in all directions; but more worrying was when the missed spells hit the weapon racks, and sent _them_ flying into the air.

Harry felt his heart leap into his throat, and was already moving before he even realised he had ducked Neville's spell and started moving.

“ _Expelliarmus! Expelliarmus! Expelliarmusexpelliarmusarmusarmusarmus!_ ” he shouted in desperation, words slurring together until he was just throwing the spell without any as _axes_ and _swords_ flew at his classmates – and were launched away again.

Silence fell, and he could feel himself shaking as he stared at the far wall – now bristling with weapons that he had deflected away.

“Perhaps.... we should work on our _aim_ , first,” he croaked out under their wide-eyed stares as they looked between the wall and him, and then at each other.

“Holy shit...” Collin wheezed.

 

* * *

 

Paint charms and painted targets were used for the rest of the session until it no longer felt like he was going to have a fucking heart-attack. He moved up and down the lines of practising students, giving them pointers, eventually discovering that Dennis should probably make an appointment with Madam Pomfrey about getting some glasses because he was surprisingly short-sighted.

Once he was sure they had the basic idea, he went about removing all the weapons from the walls and stacking them up in the side corridor that Hermione said lead to the dormitories.

“Okay!” he called, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention again, “Looks like you've all improved, and everything dangerous has been removed from the walls, sorry about that. It was my fault, I should have considered what might happen, it won't happen again. We've got maybe half an hour left until the end of the session, so shall we try that Disarming Charm again now? Pair up and back to the pits guys.”

This time he didn't wait for Neville to be rejected, but immediately caught his elbow and dragged him to one of the pits himself, “You were doing pretty good back there, Nev,” he told his housemate as they got into position, smiling a little at the bright grin the compliment netted him. “Alright everyone, like last time – one, two, three – ”

Harry was too quick for Neville, catching him and sending his wand spinning into the rafters where it landed on one of the wooden platforms and had to be summoned down and returned.

Glancing around, he thought he had been right to suggest the basics first; there was a lot of shoddy spellwork going on; many people were not succeeding in Disarming their opponents at all, but merely causing them to jump backwards a few paces or wince as their feeble spell wooshed over them.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” Neville cried, and Harry, caught unawares, felt his wand fly out of his hand.

“I DID IT!” Neville shouted gleefully, eyes widening happily. “I've never done it before – I DID IT!”

“Well done, I knew you could,” Harry said encouragingly, deciding not to mention the fact that in a fight it was unlikely his opponent was going to be looking in the other direction with his wand in a loose grip at his side. Baby steps. “Listen, can you take turns to practice with Ron and Hermione while I walk around and see everyone else? You did really well, just keep practising.”

He moved away to the others, watching each pair critically as he had when they were working with the paint charms. Aim had _definitely_ improved, but there were issues in places. Ginny was doing excellently, but her boyfriend seemed to be unwilling to jinx her; Ernie Macmillan had a lot of unnecessary movement, flourishing his wand and giving his opponent time to get under his guard; he went to everyone and gave advice where it was needed, but otherwise let them figure it out themselves, he could already see a few of them cutting down their wand movements the more they practised, others taking short breaks to watch other people's wand work and noting what worked and what didn't before trying again.

He tried not to ignore Cho and her friend Marietta, but he didn't linger either, there was too much going on and he wanted to look professional, no matter how much he wanted to stay and chat.

“Hey Harry,” Hermione greeted as he stopped by them, watching Neville and Ron cast at each other. Ron was a lot faster and more certain of his aim than Neville, but he was letting their dorm-mate actually get his spells off, actually practice. “Have you checked the time?” their female friend asked.

He looked down at his watch and was shocked to see that it was already twenty-past nine, which meant they needed to get back to their common rooms immediately or risk being caught and punished by Filch for being out of bounds. He placed his fingers to his lips and blew hard, whistle piercing through the room and making everyone stop, the last few shouts dying and their spells going uncast.

“Good job everyone. But we've overrun. We'd better leave it here. Same time, same place next week?” he suggested.

“Sooner!” Dean shouted, waving his wand in the air.

Angelina however said very quickly, “Quidditch season's about to start, we need team practices too!”

He ran the dates and what he knew of the other teams before nodding, “Next Wednesday night, then.” That was when Slytherin had the pitch booked. “We can decide on additional meetings then. Come on, we'd better get going.”

He pulled the Marauder's Map out, ignoring all the exclamations from the Ravenclaw students who were astonished by the work of spellcrafting art in his hands, and checked it carefully for teachers and trouble. He let them all leave in threes and fours, watching their tiny dots anxiously to see that they returned safely to their dormitories: The Hufflepuffs to the basement corridor that lead to the kitchens; the Ravenclaws to a tower on the west side of the castle and the Gryffindors along the corridor to the Fat Lady's portrait.

He rolled it up with a sigh, and looked at both Ron and Hermione who were beaming at him.

“That was really, really good, Harry. Even the bit with the swords, I know it was an accident but it was an _excellent_ way to prove the Disarming Charm's versatility!” she gushed proudly.

Harry grinned shyly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I think I nearly had a heart attack when it happened though. Let's.... find somewhere to put those weapons, or a better room to practice in,” he suggested nodding to the third corridor they hadn't explored yet, and the two spiral staircases that lead to a second floor.

Together, they walked into the long corridor and found... a lake.

An underground lake in a massive cavern, and in the distance they could see walk-ways that lead to a series of ropes and poles that stuck out of the water against the far wall. Harry looked up, wondering just how _high_ the ceiling was, especially considering how they were already on the seventh floor but – he couldn't see it. But he could see six platforms above him, each stretching out a little further than the one before, not by much though.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered coming up beside him to peer at the rest of the room. “....Are we still on the Seventh Floor?” he asked warily.

“Are we still in the _castle_?” Harry asked tightly before shaking his head. Apart from following the walk-ways on either side of the lake to the poles and ropes in the distance, there was nothing else here. “Let's check the second floor. We might find some information.”

The left corridor lead to a library, full of books and weapons and tables and chairs, enchanted windows with far off foreign and impossible scenery, and more staircases that lead up to, eventually, an office.

A simple circular room with paintings and a table bearing a marble bowl covered in carvings, and glass decanters of shimmering swirling white liquid.

“What's this?” Hermione asked warily as she approached.

Harry was surprised, “It's a Penseive. You store memories in them for later viewing,” he explained before gesturing to the decanters, “Those are memories. Looks like a person's whole life story in there,” he added with a grimace, looking at it warily. There were eight of them.

She pulled herself away from them with visible reluctance, “I wonder who they were....”

Ron shrugged, “Probably these guys,” he said, gesturing to the paintings around the room, all of them depicting strangers. Harry examined them, they were predominantly male, but there were women there too, their names on small plaques beneath their pictures. Kassandra, a tanned muscular woman with a knife-like smile; Bayek of Siwa, a middle-eastern looking man wearing Egyptian style jewellery; Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad, another middle-eastern looking man with scarred lips; Ezio Auditore da Firenze, a tanned man with scarred lips as well; Edward Kenway, a slavic looking blond man with a face that just _screamed_ murder; Ratonhnhaké:ton, a native american looking man with a heavy jaw; Arno Dorian, a white man with a baby face; and lastly, Evie Frye, a white woman with freckles and a scarred lip.

“Let's come back later,” Harry suggested, looking at the paintings warily. All these people, a woman in Greek-style clothes, a man in ancient Egyptian, a man dressed up like a pirate, and a woman looking like something from World War 1. How much time was eclipsed in this room, in those memories? Who even _were_ they, and what did they have to do with Hogwarts and this place?  
  
They made their way back down and went into the middle corridor this time, finding themselves once again stepping into the chamber of the lake, but at the first diving board. There were no other stairs up, but there were what looked like climbing-frames and poles and ropes that, if you were strong or adventurous enough, you could climb your way higher to the next board, and the one after. Who knew how high it actually went.... Harry couldn't see the ceiling from his current position.

They went to the last corridor, and found themselves in... He hesitated to call it an armoury given how all the weapons were downstairs, but the long rectangular stone room had armour and robes everywhere, crafting tables with equipment and sharpening stones, and a backwall covered in tools, designs, plans, and raw materials.

“Aren't these those robes we saw those guys wearing in the paintings?” Ron asked, staring at an enclosed section of the room, and the multiple statues inside, each bearing an outfit that featured some kind of hood, many of which were beaked.

“That's Spartan armour,” Hermione noted, her eyes flicking over everyone present, “That is definitely renaissance era finery. He's wearing colonial era. Pirate garb. French Revolution. British Industrial Era....” she reeled off, staring at the assorted fashions and the very star similarities of them. “It's all armoured. Even the lady's coat,” she said.

“There's more over here,” Harry called, pulling out baskets similar to what he saw in the bath-halls downstairs, “They're cut differently though,” he admitted as he pulled the white robe out from under the belts and leather padding laid atop it.

Curious, because he did like the look of the robes on display, he shrugged into them, and scowled as the sleeves dropped well past his fingertips, and the hems trailed on the floor. Hermione giggled at him and peered into another basket of her own, pulling out a robe of her own. It fit a little better than his, but was still a bit poor, too long and too loose around the shoulders. On her otherside, Ron reached into the basket closest to him and ended up with an identical white robe that was several inches too _small_.

Both he and Hermione snorted at him as he scowled, “Swap, Harry?” he suggested, tugging it off.

The second robe actually fit, and an idea popped into his head as he rotated his arms, feeling the loose fabric around his shoulders even over the top of his thick winter jumper. He pulled out another basket and measured the robe inside against himself, it was longer than the one he was currently wearing, the one in the basket next to it was a little smaller, and the one next to that smaller still. Each basket held a different size of robe, going in order of small to large from left to right.

“So,” Ron said, “We found a kickass training room with dormitories, bathrooms, an infirmary, a library, a _lake_ , and an armoury. What now?” he asked looking between his friends.

Hermione slowly pulled her robe off, “I suppose.... we should explore the library, and those memories.”

Harry sucked on his lower lip and looked at the equipment, “I think we should start with the memories first,” he decided, “It'll give us the best jumping off point for what... all these rooms are even _for_. That lake for instance, the weird platforms in the rafters on the main hall – there were corridors that lead away from there that I couldn't see any other way of reaching.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “There were a few suspicious bookcases in the library too, too thick to be normal, raised indentations on the walls. I'm pretty sure there's secret passageways.”

“Can we do it tomorrow?” Ron asked plaintively, “I'm sleepy.”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. After class? We can come straight here and explore properly so we're ready for next week.”

They stripped out of their robes and made their way back downstairs, quiet and thoughtful as they left.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “After all, tomorrow is another day.” –Margaret Mitchell (Gone with the Wind)

Getting through classes the next day was a trial, Harry couldn't pay attention and he practically tore his quill apart with his nervous fiddling, absent-mindedly ripping little tufts out and rolling them between his fingers until his quill was practically bald. Next to him, Ron picked up on his nervous energy and his leg hadn't stopped bouncing up and down since, practically vibrating the table they were sat at to the point where Hermione elbowed him and told him to stop fidgeting because she couldn't _write_ damnit!

No one seemed to notice though, and the moment Herbology let out at the end of the day they decided to grab dinner from the kitchens and go straight to the Room.

“I think we should open it together,” Harry said when they reached the blank wall, stuffing the Marauder's Map away after checking for people near-by. “I know what I was thinking about when we opened it, but I'm pretty sure I heard Hermione wishing for something different, so.... let's do it together.”

It must have been the right thing to do because a moment later the familiar behemoth of a door appeared, it took all three of them to open it again, Harry even going so far as to brace a foot against the stone wall and push as well as pull.

“There has _got_ to be an easier way of doing that,” Ron gasped as they stepped back, rubbing their sore fingers and heading into the room.

“Magic?” Hermione suggested, brushing hair from her face as she turned and flicked her wand, closing and barring the door behind them so they wouldn't be disturbed.

The first thing they noticed when they stepped back in was that the weapons were back in their racks on the walls, but now they were belted in place. The sandpits were raked flat again, and there were new weapon racks filled with _wooden_ weapons, carved and weighted to be similar to the metal ones beside them. The trio exchanged looks of surprise and alarm before venturing further in.

“Do you think anyone came back after we left?” Ron asked warily.

“No, I made sure they all got back to their Common Rooms,” Harry said with a shake of his head.

“Hello?! Is anyone here?!” Hermione called, hands cupped around her mouth, her voice echoing through the stone room and beyond, they could hear it echoing back to them from the lake room but.... nothing. Not even the sound of someone dropping a book, or a chain being disturbed. The whole place was eerily quiet.

“Well....” Ron trailed off as he looked around before shrugging and looking at his friends, “The Room _does_ become what we need. So... Think maybe it decided to secure the dangerous ones and give us training ones on its own?” he suggested, jerking a thumb to the wooden weapon racks.

Hermione looked doubtful, but Harry shrugged a little helplessly, “Good a theory as any, I guess. Magic.” He shrugged again before making his way through the room, only to pause at the foot of the spiral staircase. “Think it changed anything in the other rooms?” he asked, looking at his friends.

Hermione's eyes went wide, and Ron straightened up.

Right, okay, they were going to check all the rooms now before going to the library office like they planned.

The infirmary wasn't any different, the bathrooms were the same, and Hermione was absolutely ecstatic to see them, complaining about how the baths in Gryffindor Tower just weren't big enough but these were _amazing_. On the otherside was the dining room and the dormitories, the dining room was unchanged according to Ron and Hermione, a nice wide room with a multiple wooden tables and chairs of various sizes, a long table against the far wall that could be used to lay out dishes buffet style. And then there were the dormitories, they were big, and also unchanged apparently.

It was a three floored square room now with an open space from floor to ceiling in the middle, beds lined the walls, separated by wooden privacy shutters, the middle of the room was decorated with a plush rug and covered with soft cushions of varying sizes and colours. The second and third floors were made of wood, and set up the same way as the ground floor, but with railings that let people look down on the open space with the cushions.

The lake room was a little changed, there were climbing frames out on the water now, over by the poles and ropes in the distance. The armoury had a _lot_ more baskets with robes in now. Twenty eight baskets, actually, Hermione counted. One for everyone in the DA, Ron noted. Harry said nothing, and they made their way to check the library.

It was unchanged too. Same books, same shelves, same paintings, and cushions, and reading knooks for hyperfocused Ravenclaws to get lost in.

But when they got to the office they found that one of the paintings on the wall was... crooked. Bayek of Siwa glowered lopsidedly at them as Hermione stepped forward to reposition him, and froze when something _glass and metallic_ scraped against the stone behind it.

“There's something behind it,” she said, carefully lifting the painting up, and away, her jaw dropping when she saw it.

Harry gaped, “Is that a _timeturner?!_ ” he spluttered, and Ron choked.

Hanging from the nail that held the portrait of Bayek was a timeturner, thick and square, shaped nothing like what Hermione had a few years ago, and filled with strangely shifting golden sand.

Ron yanked the nearest picture off the wall, Altair, to reveal a small cubbyhole, filled with papers. Harry risked a peek behind Evie Frye's and found only a yellow scrap of cloth and a chess piece, a rook. Ezio had another book. Edward had a broken compass, and Ratonhnhake:ton had a map hidden behind his portrait. Arno Dorian's portrait was just that, a portrait with no extra surprises. Kassandra's portrait was the same, just a portrait.

“I can't read this,” Ron complained as he brandished the papers from behind Altair's portrait in the air, looking offended and irritated.

“That's because its in Arabic, Ron,” Hermione pointed out in dry amusement.

Harry tilted his head, and looked at the book in his hands, it was clearly a journal, and also written in the language he didn't know. If he had to make a guess, he wanted to say it was Spanish, or maybe a very close linguistic relative because he recognised a few words, even if they were spelt weird. Or maybe it was just the language of the era? Modern English looked completely alien to stuff that was written two hundred years ago, never mind whenever this Ezio guy was from.

The girl made a sound of disgust as she flipped through the loose papers, “I can't read this,” she complained, unreasonably offended.

“Do you read Arabic?” Harry asked, amused.

Hermione glared at him, “It's part of Ancient Runes. We don't _just_ cover the Eldar Futhark you know. Arabic was covered last year, or at least the magical script of it was.”

“Wonder what the deal with the chess piece is...” Ron mused as he fiddled with Evie Frye's items, the yellow cloth and the rook.

Harry shrugged, “Maybe we'll find out when we look at her memories?” he suggested, nodding to the original reason they were even _there_. The Penseive and memory decanters.

“Know which one is hers? Which one is _anyone's_?” Ron asked as he peered at the crystal bottles, none of which had any identifying marks.

The dark haired boy shrugged and made his way to the table, gently setting down the book in his hands next to the bottles and picking one at random, “Only one way to find out. We can label them afterwards,” he decided as he pulled the weighted crystal 'cork' out, and poured the whole thing into the penseive.

Hermione returned Altair's papers to the cubby behind his portrait and came up beside him, “Okay, so, how do we do this?” she asked.

Harry grinned a little, “Stick your head in.”

“What?” the girl blurted, staring at him in disbelief.

“No joke. You stick your head in. Or your face more specifically,” he explained with a wry smile. Wizards were insane.

Ron huffed, and then held a hand out to them both, “On the count of three?” he suggested.

The two exchanged looks before grabbing his hands, “Yeah,” Harry agreed.

“On three,” Hermione said.

“One – two – three,” they chanted, took a breath, and then plunged in.

 

* * *

 

Harry yanked his head out of the penseive, gasping for air, beside him, Hermione was doing the same and it was only the grip both he and Ron had on her hands that stopped her from falling to the floor as all three of them _reeled_.

“Oh my god, oh my _god_ ,” Hermione panted, her eyes wide, her hands cold and clammy in theirs as she shook.

“Blood hell, that – _fuck!_ ” Ron croaked, blue eyes dominating his face as he looked between his bestfriends and the bowl of memories in front of them.

“Assassins,” Harry rasped, “They're actually a thing, they're _actually_ a thing!”

“That poor man,” Hermione whispered, tightening her grip on their fingers, “His friends, his mentor, his _family_ – how could Abbas _do_ such a thing to someone from his own Brotherhood?” she gasped, releasing Harry's hand to wipe at her face, at the tears forming.

“No offence, 'Mione, but Altair was a bloody asshole,” Ron pointed out weakly, squeezing her hand.

“But he wasn't! Oh Ron, he changed, he got better, he saw the error of his ways. To be so blinded by hatred of one person that you'd so such horrible things – poor Altair....” the girl trailed off, wiping her eyes as she looked at the portrait of the stone faced man with scarred lips. To lose your friends, to be forced to kill your mentor, to be _handed_ your _bestfriend's_ _head_ in a _sack_ , to be told that your child was murdered believing that _you_ ordered it, to imagine how Altair must have felt in those moments, to bid his last remaining child goodbye during a siege and die _alone_ in a sealed vault....

Her heart went out to the Master Assassin who, for all that he had done in life, had been absolutely, unfailingly, _human_. With all the good and bad that came with it.

They were silent as they digested what they had learned from the memories.

It wasn't a perfect recollection, fragments and impressions. A lot of information was lost, and a surprisingly large amount of useless information was in there, endless hours spent in mind-numbing boredom during travel. High paced combat bleeding together, conflict smearing into one another where memories became confused and they went from fighting Masyaf to Constantinople between one sword stroke to another. Much of it was jumbled as well, the memories in a sloppy tangle of awareness, some degraded, others perfect. But it.... was fascinating. And humbling.

“Marco Polo was an assassin,” Harry blurted suddenly, his voice weak.

Hermione stared at him, and suddenly started laughing. It was such a ridiculous thing to say, to realise, but he wasn't wrong. The explorers Niccolo and Maffeo Polo were the father and uncle of Marco Polo, the world famous explorer, and incredibly closely connected to the Brotherhood of Assassins.

They fell silent, unsure of where to go from there.

“Do you.... do you think.... all of these people are – _were_ assassins?” Ron asked, looking at the other portraits. At the two pretty women, at the scarred men.

Harry swallowed as he stared at them, “...One way to find out?” he offered, and they all exchanged uneasy looks as they looked back at the penseive.

“What time is it?” Hermione asked, “We went through Master Altair's entire life, we can't have been in there for a small amount of time.”

“ _Tempus_ , nine. We were in there for four hours,” Ron realised in mild horror, looking up.

Harry frowned and then looked at the timeturner still hanging up, “We... have that,” he reminded them, nodding to it.

Hermione shook her head, “We've just witnessed a man's entire life, Harry. I think we need to digest. We can do another one tomorrow,” she said tiredly. After the emotional whiplash and distortion of Altair's life, she wanted a hot shower and her own bed.

“Tomorrow's Saturday anyway,” Ron pointed out, “We can probably get through more memories then.”

The shortest of the trio turned the thought over in his head before nodding, “True.” Carefully, like he had seen Professor Dumbledore do, he dipped his wand in the penseive and swirled it around like a cotton candy stick, gathering up all the memory strands and carefully returning them to their glass decanter. It took a while, and eventually Hermione transfigured a label from a scrap of parchment in her pocket to tie to the neck of the crystal.

They put all the portraits back where they belonged, hiding their treasures back in place as well, before leaving the room again.

Walking down the staircases felt _strange_ now, especially now that Harry could see the raised stone in the brick-work, the indentations that were just big enough for fingertips and toes, to go into the hall and see the rafters and realise that it wasn't just a mess of ceiling beams and ropes – it was a playpark. A training course. He – he wanted to climb it. He wanted to run and jump and see how far he could reach, how far he could get. It felt like a weight, solid and thick in the back of his throat, just below his collarbone.

But they took the stairs, and they walked. And used their wands to open the doors instead of their hands and their shoulders. And then they closed it behind them.

Harry thought he saw a man in white robes as they left.

 

* * *

 

Sleep was... not easy.

Nightmares of Altair's life superimposed over nightmares of his own life, fighting Quirrel and suddenly knives were coming from Harry's hands and he stabbed his teacher in the throat, the feeling of sticky hot blood as he stared up at the Basilisk and the familiar Levantine blade embedded in the roof of its mouth, the sword of Gryffindor in his hand as he slew Templars left and right, Maria sprawled limp and dirty in the graveyard as Abbas rose from a cauldron with Voldemort's red eyes and laughed at him with golden teeth, an Apple of Eden in one hand, and his wand in the other.

Both he and Ron looked rough when they got up the next morning. Even Hermione was subdued and tired as they went down to breakfast together. They decided against going back to the room that day, they... they needed some time.

They played chess, they did their homework, and then...

“I hate feeling like this,” Hermione muttered, Crookshanks curled up purring in her lap, trying to give her as much comfort as possible. Harry and Ron exchanged looks over their chess board, and then Harry sighed, gently pushing his King over. The chess piece gave him a dirty look but threw himself down and propped his head up on his elbow like a sulky toddler.

“Wanna try the assault course?” he asked after a while. Hermione and Ron stared at him. He hunched down in his seat, “It could be fun...” He had never really _liked_ running, but he had been proud of the fact he could outrun everyone in Little Whinging Junior and was always chosen for the eight-hundred metre race – he had never actually _lost_ the eight-hundred metre race. No one ever picked him for sports, but that was just because Dudley would hit them during break, but it didn't change the fact that Harry had been a very good runner. And... it was really cool the way Altair could run and just – go over things, no matter what it was. Nothing could contain him or stop him when he decided he wanted to go somewhere, and that was.... it spoke to him. A lot.

Hermione leaned back in her seat, “I haven't done anything like that since.... since coming to Hogwarts,” she admitted before huffing a laugh, “I did always like gymnastics at school. Alright.”

Ron looked between them helplessly, “What are we doing now?” he asked plaintively as the two got up.

“Physical activity,” Harry told him with a grin, “Think of it as flightless Quidditch Training.”

“That sounds terrible,” the red head told him, following without resistance as they put their things away and left the Common Room.

“Wait until after you're done,” Hermione told him with humour.

They went back to the Room together, there were no changes that they could see this time, the training weapons were still in place, the metal ones were still secured to their frames, and the lights were still on.

Hermione looked up at the aerial assault course with sudden trepidation and Harry laughed at the look on her face, “Not that one,” he told her, and lead them to the lake. “Remember the lake at Masyaf?” he asked, and like that, Hermione's expression cleared with realisation as they looked at the climbing frames and poles at the far end of the lake.

“We're so gunna fall in,” Ron said with amusement, remembering the many incidents where they watched Novices at the beginning of their training slip and drop into the waters of the lake.

“That's half the fun,” Harry told him with a grin as he kicked his shoes off, and stripped his jumper off.

“How cold is this water?” Hermione asked warily, kneeling down to stick her hand in. She pulled a face, “Very.”

“Good thing there's hot Turkish baths down the hall, huh?” Harry said with a grin before taking a step back and taking a running leap at the first post. It was a wide platformed one, most of them were at this point, but they got thinner the further ahead they were.

He landed easily, but his momentum made him stumble forward and he ended up having to jump for the next pillar before he got his legs under him – he ended up not landing _on_ it, so much as hugging it, and then neatly sliding into the water anyway.

“FUCK THAT'S COLD!”

Ron and Hermione burst out laughing.

“You d-do it th-th-then,” the Gryffindor challenged, swimming back to them and climbing out, shivering as he groped amidst his clothing for his wand and quickly hit himself with a warming charm.

Hermione slipped and fell at the first platform, dropping with a girlish squeak, that turned into an outright _shriek_ as soon as she hit the water. Ron however ended up not quite making it, and instead slamming his face into it before he hit the water.

“So fis is wai we 'ave an infirmwy,” the red head lisped, hands clutching his bleeding nose as both Harry and Hermione clustered around him. “Ahh, ow, no, I'm fine,” he assured them, rubbing it, “It's not broken.”

The trio continued to run the poles, Hermione took it slow and steady, jumping delicately from spot to spot to keep her balance, but eventually found herself stuck as she didn't have the momentum needed to make some of the bigger jumps. Ron had fairly good balance, but he often made the mistake of not looking any further than his next jump, his feet were also big which sometimes didn't work in his favour when he tried to land with both feet on a very narrow pole and very nearly ended the line of Weasley when both his feet slipped on either side of said pole. He was quick enough to turn that into a head first dive into the water before his balls hit the wood. Harry did the best of all of them, but he often went too fast, relying on instinct without taking a moment to consider whether he could or should try it a certain way. He hit the water the most of all of them, but he also made it the furthest across the lake.

It was only when Hermione noticed that Harry was practically _blue_ with chill to call them to a stop, and then wrangle them into the baths so they could warm up. And oh, the baths were just as amazing as they looked – the hot rooms were wonderful after the lake, the icy cold running water was less appreciated but then they got the sauna, shower, and the deeper baths.

“Oh man, this is amazing,” Ron groaned, sinking into the water up to his ears with a heartfelt sigh.

Harry gurgled beside him in boneless appreciation.

Time lost all meaning in the heat as they soaked away the cold of the lake, and the aching muscles and bruises from many a graceless introduction to the poles.

“God... if Altair saw that he'd laugh himself into a coma,” Harry muttered lazily, and Ron snorted, almost choking on the bathwater.

“Merlin, yeah. We're not even novices but he'd bust us down to novice for such a shoddy performance,” he complained with humour.

“We did alright towards the end,” Harry mumbled, struggling to sit upright even as a yawn threatened to crack his jaw, “Everyone starts somewhere.”

“ _You_ did alright towards the end, mate,” Ron corrected with a lazy grin, “All that Quidditch practice must have been hella useful for balance.”  
  
Harry snorted, “And for not being afraid of falling. Ugh, I'm _exhausted_. Think we could sleep here? I mean, there _are_ beds, right?” he asked plaintively. He was too tired and too lazy to try slogging his way back to Gryffindor Tower while dodging teachers, and Filch. He _hurt_ too much to do that.

Ron groaned as he hauled himself out of the water, “I don't see why not. Ugh, damn, I haven't had bruises like this since....” he trailed off, confused as he stared down at the purple stripes and blots up his arms and legs. He shook his head, “I can't remember. C'mon, before you fall asleep and drown.”

The smaller of the pair grumbled unhappily at the thought of leaving the baths but dragged himself out all the same, grabbing the towels to dry off before they shuffled into the changing rooms to gather their clothes. Their soaking wet clothes that were still on the floors. Grumbling the two tried to use cleaning and drying charms but they didn't really make much of a dent.

Something heavy and white smacked into his head, making Harry splutter and flail, behind him Ron squawked a startled and horrified, “Hermione!”

“We can hang out clothes up in the hot rooms, but I don't think they're going to be dry until tomorrow,” the girl told them tiredly, dressed in white novice robes sans armour once Harry managed to drag his own set off his head. She looked.... different wearing them. Both smaller and taller. Definitely slimmer and – okay, dressed in the assassins robes, it was very hard to deny or ignore that Hermione was growing to be a young woman. And judging by how red Ron had gone, he was noticing as well.

She ignored them, summoning their wet clothes and padding into the hot room with a yawn of her own to hang them up.

“Bloody hell,” Ron muttered.

Harry grunted in agreement, and... he put the robes on.

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The main thing is, you fight back.” –Hans Fallada (Every Man Dies Alone)

They slept soundly that night, too exhausted to be bothered by dreams, in fresh smelling beds in the dormitories. Unfortunately there was no food in the dining hall when they woke up, but thankfully their clothes were dry and waiting for them in the hot rooms, and then returned to the main hall where they sat on the spiral staircases.

“I think we should really make a move on those memories,” Harry said, picking at the hem of his jeans. “Altair had so much information in his, the others might be the same. I mean, that ultra-light metal armour he crafted... He destroyed the records but we have the whole thing here, in his memories,” he pointed out with determination, “It might be an idea to see if that stuff is spell-proof as well as blade proof.”

Hermione nodded slowly, “True. I'd like to get going on the library as well, but I suppose that can wait until we've finished with the memories, hopefully we'll have the context to understand them by then.”

“What about the DA?” Ron asked, propping his chin on his knee.

“What do you mean?” Harry asked, looking at him.

“I mean, are we going to teach them assassin stuff? Are we going to _learn_ assassin stuff? I thought we were just learning Defence Against the Dark Arts stuff,” he pointed out.

“You saw how they fought,” Harry pointed out softly, pulling a leg up to his chest, “We don't have to _become_ assassins, but that doesn't mean we can't _learn_ from them, right?” he asked looking between them. “I still intend on teaching magic, but don't you think that kind of manoeuvrability would be a real advantage in a fight? Not to mention what you said last time, if a Death Eater summons our wands, we'll be helpless.”

Hermione chewed a thumbnail, “Not to mention the Apple. Do you think its magic?”

“Obviously,” Ron scoffed.

“Magic that a muggle could use?” she asked him pointedly, making him frown, she shook her head, “I'm not so sure. You can't enchant gold afterall, and that thing was most _definitely_ gold. What if V-Voldemort got hold of something like that, you saw what Al Mualim did with it, what _Altair_ could do with it. I.... I'm with Harry, I think we should take every advantage we can get.” She looked between them, her jaw firming, “Voldemort and the Death Eaters have _decades_ of magic on us. And they're not going to be playing around with Disarming Spells and Tickling Charms.”

Ron stared at her levelly and then looked at Harry, whatever he found must have satisfied him because he relaxed and nodded, “Alright. I'm on board. But first, I'm hungry, can we get breakfast?” he asked with a self-depreciating laugh.

They go to the kitchens to get their breakfast, and pack a backpack with extras for lunch and dinner, planning to spend the whole day in the Room going through as much of the memories as possible before they had to return to class the following day. Putting the food away in the dining room, the three made their way back up to the office where they checked the portraits again, finding nothing disturbed.

Hermione scoffed in annoyance, “I can read these now,” she complained holding the papers out to them, “Can you?” she asked and, amazingly, he could. The words swam in front of his eyes but something in his head clicked over and he _could_ read them, remembered Altair's calloused hands writing them, remembered what each word meant, what their placement dictated, the tone of the Mentor's thoughts and the emphasis he placed upon his words.

“Yeah. I can read it,” he told her, much to her annoyance.

“This feels like a cheat,” she told him irritably before putting them back behind the man's portrait. They all paused to stare at him, at the face of a man who did _so much_.

Hermione bowed first. Ron and Harry followed suit after only a moment. It.... only seemed right.

They remained silent for a moment before straightening up.

“Right. Memories,” Hermione declared briskly, blushing slightly in embarrassment.

“Right,” Harry agreed awkwardly, moving to the table where he chose another crystal decanter at random and up-ended it into the penseive.

They joined hands once again, and then plunged in.

 

* * *

 

Arno Dorian, the French Assassin who fell in love with Elise de la Serre, a Templar Knight, his adoptive sister.

His memories were less traumatic than Altair's, there was less distortion, less combative smearing and skips, but there were also large chunks of information missing, and there wasn't quite the same level of.... involvement with him. It felt less like they were living his life, and more like they were watching a film _of_ his life as they followed him through Paris and Versailles. Then there was the thing with the French Revolution and fucking _Napoleon_. Yeah. They weren't touching that one with a forty foot barge pole.

Harry labelled the bottle properly, and carefully returned the man's memories to their container even as he turned over what they had learned. There was nothing particularly outstanding in Arno's life that screamed at them to pay attention, his love for Elise was.... intense, and Harry felt a bit uncomfortable for having witnessed several of their more emotionally charged moments, the true love between them, and the inevitable heartbreak with her death. But... the Eagle Vision.... Altair could see allegiances, but Arno could see the memories of the people he killed too, he could attune it to his hearing as well, and even allow _others_ to share in the skill if he concentrated enough.

He took another bottle, and they once again dove in, this time into the life of the Mercenary Kassandra, granddaughter of the legendary King Leonidus of Sparta. There was no mention of Assassins in her memories, much there was _much_ about combat, about training, and tactics. And sex. Lot's of sex, which had all of them hot around the ears and avoiding eyecontact because.... yeah. Kassandra _got around and felt no shame what-so-ever_ about it. They saw only the beginning of her life, and her adult life as a mercenary, unlike with Altair, they saw nothing of her death, and unlike Arno they didn't even see her past her middle ages. Her Eagle Vision was different as well. Much more literal in that she could see through the eyes of her pet eagle, Ikaros, which was a play on 'Icarus' if Harry had ever heard one.

The Revolutionary Ratonhnhake:ton, Conner, was like a punch to the stomach after the relatively diminished experiences of Arno and Kassandra. His happy childhood torn away from him with the death of his mother and the burning of his village, meeting the Spirit Juno, becoming an Assassin, the rising tensions between the American Colonists and the British forces, his _father_ being a Templar, aiding in the Boston Tea Party (and god wasn't that a mindfuck, to learn that assassins had instigated it to spite templars), the revolutionary war, protecting Washington himself, learning the truth about his mother's death, Kidd's treasure, the Battle of Monmouth, Achilles passing, killing his own father not even a month later at Fort George, finally killing the Templar that he met as a child, Lee, and the forced removal of his people from their ancestral lands.

His life hit them as hard as Altair's had, his journey to rebuild the Colonial Brotherhood of Assassins, the horrible twisted vision of a world where Washington got hold of an Apple of Eden and went insane, pitting the two former allies against one another at their most desperate and furious. His beloved wife, their three children – their clever daughter who inherited all the best traits of them both, including her father's talent to peer through the eyes of animals.

But the memories didn't take them any further. And.... Harry was okay with that as he surfaced from the penseive, breathing hard, and sharing desperate looks with his friends even as he felt at peace. At least, in the end, they left Conner in a moment of peace, in happiness. With the future looking bright, his family alive and well, his daughter carrying on his legacy, and the Brotherhood going from strength to strength.

“I... Let's take a break,” Hermione suggested, shaking a little as she dropped their hands.

Harry returned Ratonhnhake:ton's memories to his decanter, labelling it, and slowly stumbled after his friends as they made their way back downstairs to where the food was waiting for them in the dining room.

“God this place is depressingly empty with just us here,” Ron eventually complained after ten minutes of tired, dazed chewing.

Harry grunted in agreement.

“Music would be nice,” Hermione admitted with a sigh, “I used to hate silence. But here, there's no music anywhere, you have to study in silence. I hate it, but....” She shrugged helplessly and reached for her drink.

“We've got four more memories to get through,” Harry said slowly, “We could _maybe_ get through two more tonight, if we used the timeturner to get a full night's sleep. What do you think?” he asked, looking at Hermione as she was their timetravelling expert.

She yawned again, an absolute jaw-breaker, and flinched when her cheek panged, “I think I could sleep right now to be honest, Harry,” she admitted, “And we'll only be worse off after another memory binge. I say tomorrow. Besides, we should probably head back to Gryffindor Tower, we've kind of been missing for two days.”

She had a point, and the trio tiredly packed away the food, casting preservation charms on it all and putting it away into the cupboards before heading out. It was still before curfew, but they still got a couple of looks as they made their way through the corridors back to Gryffindor tower, moving a little gingerly as they climbed the stairs. Ron groaned about how it felt like his legs were going to fall off, and Hermione suggested they look up some potions to put into the bath water to ease their aches and pains after running the poles – because there was no question, no second thought, that they _were_ going to run them again.

“Blimy, Ron, what happened to your face?” Lee Jordan exclaimed as they shuffled through the Gryffindor Common Room.

Ron waved him off, yawning, “Trying out some stuff we might teach you later. Gotta work the kinks out before presenting it,” he said. Harry squinted at him and realised that the undersides of his eyes were bruised from the harsh introduction he had to the training poles. He hadn't seen them that well in the gloom of the Room – they should probably look into getting some more light sources, thinking about it.

“Should probably look into healing magic too,” Harry said with a yawn of his own, damn, Hermione was right. Bed time, he figured, no way was he going to stay awake right now.

Nightmares surfaced again, Kassandra's baby brother falling down the cliff, Elise's corpse on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets, Haytham Kenway stood over him with his hands around Harry's eleven year old neck, his face blistering under his hands like Quirrel's, the mad oracle in the Shrieking Shack, Tom Riddle with the Spear of Leonidus and golden eyes, Washington in Dumbledore's office, and fighting, so much fighting.

Harry woke with a gasp in clammy sweat-soaked sheets, and struggled free. It was early, but not early enough to justify going back to sleep. He rubbed a hand across his face and paused, Ron was thrashing in his bedding.

He reached out, and clamped a hand down on the red head's leg, startling him back to consciousness.

They showered and got dressed for the day, heading down to the Common Room where they found Hermione waiting for them trying to comb her hair while it was still wet and was unlikely to frizz. They ate _ravenously_ when they got down to breakfast, a little weirded out by the fact that they were the only ones in the Great Hall apart from a small handful of semi-frazzled Seventh Year Ravenclaws who likely hadn't even _slept_ that night.

Class passed in a daze, Harry felt almost... _sticky_ , slow, just going through the motions of a dull boring day, time ticked by at an agonising rate, and words swam through his head just not sinking in as he struggled to take notes and perform spells that just seemed so pointless in the face of what they were learning from Altair, Arno, Kassandra, and Ratonhnhake:ton, the things they could use against Voldemort and his Death Eaters from them.

And then it clicked over in his head in the middle of transfiguration, when Professor McGonagall threatened to have Seamus back with the first years transfiguring match-sticks into needles.

How much of the magic they learned could they apply in other areas? Match-sticks into needles, wood into metal, inanimate to animate. He could turn quills into throwing knives, armour into butterflies, featherlight charms onto the heaviest of armour to allow someone in full-plate to run and climb like a Master; god, with an Animagus form he could slip in and out of locations without anyone realising anything had even happened until they found the bodies. Portkeys, apparation, and that was putting aside modern muggle advances as well.

Assassins used everything at hand to defend themselves and others, _why weren't they doing the same?_

Harry straightened up and grabbed a fresh sheet of parchment, furiously taking notes – not on transfiguration, but on everything they had covered and how it could be bent to be used in combat, how with a little imagination, a little more power, a little _less_ power, a sideways twist here or there, and suddenly they were cooking with gas. Ron eyed him in suspicious confusion, at least until he leaned over and got a glimpse of what he was actually writing. He stared for a moment, before looking back up at the board, back down at his notes, obviously thinking hard, before he grabbed a sheet of parchment himself and started to write. Whether Professor McGongall was suspicious of their activities, or deciding that as long as they _looked_ like they were working then she didn't want to know what they were up to, Harry couldn't tell – but she definitely noticed. And so did Hermione.

“What were you doing?” she asked, deeply suspicious, as they left transfiguration.

“Tell you later,” Harry told her, eyes flicking to the wary frown on Malfoy's face as he and his cronies followed on their heels out of transfiguration. “I'll catch up in a sec, gotta talk to someone,” he told them once they reached the Great Hall, splitting away and heading down to the kitchens. Undoubtedly they were going to miss a few meals in the Great Hall, and they couldn't exactly go and leave the Room every time they got a little peckish – it would draw attention like no one's business.

So down to the kitchens where he let himself in, and was promptly swamped by House-elves. “Hi guys, is Dobby here? I have a favour to ask him, if he's willing,” he added, because it _was_ a favour, Dobby had enough on his plate picking up after everyone in Gryffindor Tower – he was going to have to talk to Hermione about that, now that he thought about it.

“Harry Potter Sir, coming to visit _Dobby_ , with a favour to ask of _Dobby_ ,” the little elf in his multitude of sweaters, and socks was almost sobbing with joy as he tottered through the crowds of elves who eyed him with naked disapproval and immediately went back to their work. “Anything Harry Potter Sir asks, Dobby will do! Dobby swears!”

Harry shook his head, kneeling down, “Dobby, you shouldn't agree without knowing first. You're a Free Elf, remember?” he pointed out with a grin, “You don't serve me. You're my friend.”

Critical hit, K.O.

Dobby wheezed, clutching at his chest, “H-Harry Potter Sir calls _Dobby his f-friend!_ ” the elf squeaked, gasping for air.

He patted the little elf on the shoulder until he could pull himself together, “Dobby, you remember the room you told me about? Me, Ron, and Hermione have been using it a lot lately for training and research. We've got _some_ food in there, but we'd really like to keep the Room a secret. Would you be willing to stock the cupboards every now and again? Or if it'd be easier, could we get some stuff set aside here, and we'll come and pick it up ourselves – ”

Dobby _wailed_ , “D-Dobby will fill the shelves, Harry Potter Sir! Dobby _will!_ The _Great_ Harry Potter Sir will not go hungry on Dobby's watch! No Sir!”

Harry grinned and held a hand out, Dobby eyed it in confusion for a moment, ears waggling before he held his own hand out tentatively to shake. Harry shifted and clasped his forearm, “Thanks Dobby, you're awesome. This'll make everything easier.”

He... ended up having to stay in the kitchen for dinner, patting Dobby on the back as the house-elf burst into an absolute flood of tears, completely incoherent but blubbing about how happy he was. It was _so_ awkward, but he couldn't just leave the elf after making him cry (even if he _really_ wanted to). Thankfully the other elves were happy to feed him, even if they were completely bewildered by how he was treating the _Free Elf_. (If they had any idea it was Harry who tricked Malfoy into freeing him, he doubted he would be as welcomed in the kitchens as before.)

Hermione's face when they walked into the dining hall of the Room later and found Dobby, wearing _all_ of her knitted socks and sweaters, and the whole room completely filled to bursting with food, table cloths, dishes, knives and cook wear, could have curdled milk. She looked fit to kill him even as Harry thanked the elf profusely and Ron, despite having come from dinner, grabbed one of the fresh cream profiteroles from a near-by table to eat.

“What is Harry Potter Sir doing here?” the house-elf asked as he hopped down from the table to follow them.

“Well, I was teaching the others Defence Against the Dark Arts. _Practical_ Defence. But when the room appeared there were other things here, useful things. So we're learning as much as we can. The next meeting is Wednesday, so Ron, Hermione, and I are going through everything here and taking things to teach the others,” Harry explained as he gestured to the hall where the sandpits were waiting, pristine, for combat practice, where metallic weapons were belted into place against the walls, and wooden practice weapons were waiting for students to pick them up and learn.

Dobby's ears waggled, “Of course the _Great_ Harry Potter Sir would teach others how to protect themselves. Dobby is so proud to call Harry Potter Sir his _F-fre-_ _ **friend**_ ,” he finally managed to wheeze out, and then immediately leapt at the nearest wall, “ _BAD DOBBY BAD!_ ” he screeched, attempting to slam his head into the unyielding stone – and would have had Harry not hoisted him up off his feet by the back of his sweaters, like Altair had with slippery footed novices, and Ratonhnhake:ton had done with his daughter right before she sprinted into a river deeper than it looked, like Kassandra had done to rabbits in the long grass. It was an action they had, all of them, seen so often but never done themselves, and yet felt so _natural_.

“No punishing yourself, Dobby,” Harry told him firmly, giving him a little shake, “You're my friend, and I don't like seeing my friends hurt,” he scolded.

The elf looked absolutely stricken for a moment, and then nodded slowly, “D-Dobby is sorry, Harry Potter Sir. He won't do it again,” he promised, crossing a long spindly finger across his chest as he looked up at the Gryffindor with large watery green eyes.

Harry returned him to his feet, “Good.”

Ron nodded, “Yeah. It's scary when you do things like that, Dobby. You're so little, you can really hurt yourself doing that,” he pointed out, his expression twisted in discomfort.

Hermione didn't say anything, she just dropped to her knees and hugged the little elf tightly, her breath shuddering wetly.

“See? We care very much, Dobby. Please don't punish yourself for saying you're our friend, because it's true,” Harry told him with a grin as Dobby's face glowed with a mixture of embarrassment and joy as he hesitantly patted Hermione's back.

“Dobby is blessed...” he muttered quietly, before letting himself give Hermione a proper hug, and then vanishing with a crack, leaving her clutching at nothing.

Ron stared in silence even as Harry turned away and started for the spiral staircases, “I didn't realise he was still punishing himself,” he muttered even as Hermione wiped her face and stood up, and Harry paused at the stairs.

“It's been two years, Ron,” he muttered not looking back, “It takes a lot longer than you'd think to get over those sorts of things.”

Hermione whirled around, her expression twisted in outrage, only to stop, and stare at his tense back in sudden realisation. Her mouth clicked shut.

 

* * *

 

Evie Frye's memories were like Arno and Kassandra's. There wasn't very much of them, but they were still more vivid and life-like than the other two despite the lack of them. She was the elder sister of twins, a Master Assassin, born and raised for the role she pursued knowledge of Precursor artefacts, chasing down something called a 'Shroud of Eden'. Her brother, Jacob, lead a London gang called the Rooks against a Templar organised gang called the Blighters. The chess piece and scrap of yellow cloth behind her portrait were keepsakes of her brother, and, likely, their method of contacting any official Assassins that remained within London as she had married fellow Assassin Henry Green and went to India to learn. She and her brother were the only Assassins to have ever been recognised by the British monarchy, meeting Queen Victoria and being inducted into the Order of the Sacred Garter – but eventually cutting ties when things got a little too... _imperialistic_. Gods, she had been _friends_ with Mark Twain who assisted the assassins, and they hunted down _Jack the fucking Ripper_ – who was actually a rogue assassin? Gods, how much of history was intertwined with these people _and_ somehow both with magic, and somehow never butting up against each other?

Edward Kenway sat somewhere between Evie Frye and Ratonhnhake:ton in impact. Life in the Caribbean was bright and as a pirate always carried that edge of devil-may-care, live or die. But his life was one of loneliness and greed and disappointment and _guilt_. Edward Kenway was not a happy man, by circumstances of his birth, by shame at being unable to provide the life he wanted to the woman he loved, his life as a privateer and then a pirate, getting in over his head with the conflict between Assassins and Templars – but by far the harshest punch to the stomach of the tree watching was learning that his _son_ was Haytham Kenway, Ratonhnhake:ton's _templar father_. That the very Shroud of Eden that Evie Frye had been searching for, had found, was the very same one that Edward had hidden alongside the Crown Jewels in London Tower.

They slept in the Room that night, too muzzy with memories and aching to try staggering their way back to Gryffindor Tower this long after curfew.

Harry took the timeturner and put them back several hours, and Hermione moaned as soon as she saw their hours-younger-selves using the penseive. All three of them, bent over the bowl with their heads floating in the glowing fluid, arses in the air.

“We don't look like that when we're memory viewing, do we?” she whined tiredly, “That's so embarrassing. I need to – I need to do something about that. I'm not – that's so embarrassing,” she complained as the three of them staggered out of the office and down the stairs.

They slept hard, thankfully without nightmares, and found their clothes folded up clean and neat at the foot of their beds, and breakfast waiting for them in the dining room. Dobby was nowhere to be seen.

They staggered to classes, still exhausted despite sleeping for almost twelve hours.

They returned to the room afterwards, Harry sighing tiredly and reminding them that tomorrow would be their next meeting with the rest of the DA, and they still had two memory decanters to get through. Bayek of Siwa, and Ezio Auditore da Firenze.

They turned the timeturner before they started, and began the day again by opening one of the last remaining decanters.

And fell into the life of Bayek of Siwa.

The life of the last Medjay, the father who accidentally killed his son while trying to protect him, who hunted his way through Egypt dealing out death and justice. Seeking the murderers of his son, serving Cleopatra and aiding her rise to the throne, saving the people from the tyranny of Pharaoh Ptolemy, arranging Cleopatra meeting Caesar and the alliances forged between the two. And were then betrayed by them once their power in Egypt was established. Bayek and his wife, Aya of Alexandria, separating to found the 'Hidden Ones', protectors of the peoples' freedom from the shadows, the forefathers of what the Assassins would later become. They were no longer husband and wife, and devoted themselves wholly to their new paths. Aya to becoming Amunet, the founder of the Roman chapter of Assassins. Bayek to remain in Egypt and begin his own until calls for aid became impossible to ignore, and resulted in his crucifixion and rescue by his estranged wife, and their coming together once again to correct the wrongs of the assassins gone astray in recent years in their battle against the Roman Empire.

Bayek's life had been vivid, there was more _feeling_ than anything in his life and despite how little there was in terms of information, it was intense and bright and left them shaken and shaking when they surfaced again, trembling like newborns in the cold, trying to see in the darkness of the Room instead of the hot Egyptian sun.

They did not see what became of Bayek, or his wife, Amunet.

They ate, and returned to the office to look at the last decanter of memories.

“Do you think the Order of the Phoenix are some kinda magical branch of Assassins?” Ron asked as Harry slowly and laboriously returned Bayek's memories to his decanter, as Hermione flipped through Altair's papers, his _codex_ , or at least a copy of it, scowling in bewilderment at the codes and _knowing_ there was more to it that she couldn't see because she didn't _have_ Eagle Vision.

“No,” Harry stated firmly, “Dumbledore hates killing.”

And they all knew how the Assassins operated. There was no way the Order was an Assassin branch.

“Do you think it maybe _started_ out – ” Ron tried, only for Harry to shake his head again.

“Dumbledore founded it to fight Voldemort the first time over. Sirius told me. If they _had_ been Assassins... I don't think half our classmates would be here today,” he pointed out, not saying that it was because their parents would have been killed before they were even conceived in the last war.

Hermione gently returned the pages to their cubby, “We would... likely have _more_ classmates, if that had happened,” she admitted quietly, “The Death Eaters' terror attacks targeted primarily... young families. Muggle families. At random.” She gave them both a significant look, Ron only frowned at her in bewilderment while Harry closed his eyes in pain and anger.

“Muggleborns, Ron,” he muttered, “Accidental Magic Reversal get pinged every time a kid does magic in a muggle area, how powerfully, and how publicly, so they can come and contain the incident. How deeply do you think the Ministry were infiltrated last time? How many of those 'random' muggle attacks were with the sole purpose of... killing a muggleborn child before they became a problem?” he asked in a croak as he looked at Hermione with new eyes.

Eyes that now understood how much of a close call her whole existence was. If she had been magically active as a newborn, then.... then she wouldn't be here right now.   
  
Ron opened his mouth to protest, only to realise... Lee Jordan was the _only_ other Gryffindor boy in the seventh year apart from his brothers. Lee who was mixed blood, his mother being from a pureblood family in America, his father a halfblood from England. Angelina Johnson was mixed blood. Alicia Spinnet was halfblood. Katie Bell.... she was muggleborn, but she was one of the few in her whole year.

Death Eaters were getting information from Accidental Magic Reversal, and murdering entire families in order to prevent muggleborns from coming into their world.

And they all knew how effective the aurors had been, how Azkaban had been.

“One more set of memories,” Harry announced tiredly. “Then we can focus on the library and figure out how to marry this assassin training stuff with defending ourselves, and dialling it down to non-lethal.”

Hermione eyed him, her face grim, “Why?” she asked suddenly, making the two boys stop and stare at her, “We should we dial down what we learn to non-lethal?” she asked, lifting her chin stubbornly. “The Death Eaters certainly won't, and if I have to choose between them or _you_ , I'm not going to hold back.”

“Killing's wrong though... isn't it?” Ron asked almost helplessly, looking between them.

“Better them, than you. _Either_ of you,” Hermione declared harshly.

“But Dumbledore – ” Ron tried only for their female friend to punch the wall.

“ _Fuck Dumbledore!_ ” she shouted, “What _exactly_ has he done that's so great?! He stopped Grindelwald! Grindelwald is still alive! People who still believe in his ideals are still out there! Dumbledore created the Order to fight Voldemort, but they never _did_ anything! They spied! And gathered information! And _what_?! All they seemed to do was gather information and then _sit on it!_ That's all they did! I've asked every single member! They have plenty of stories, but that's all they did! They snuck around, got information, and fought Death Eaters _when they were attacked_!”

Harry caught her shoulder and reeled her back, “Hermione.”

Something in his tone made her clam up, and then slump, “I'm sorry Ron. I shouldn't – I shouldn't have shouted. I just.... Everything these people went through, all that injustice, everything they fought _so hard_ for, and none of it mattered. It all... it made a difference. For a time. Only... now it doesn't, not anymore,” she said, and then sobbed, dropping her face into her hands.

Ron hauled himself to his feet and patted her on the head, “I'm – yeah, it sucks.”

The three stood in miserable silence until Hermione took a deep breath and angrily wiped her eyes, “I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me. Shall we? Let's just... get this over with.”

Harry nodded, “Alright,” he said, not insulting her by asking if she was sure. Hermione knew her limits, and proud as she was, she wasn't too proud to tell them that she needed to stop.

They clustered around the penseive as Harry poured the final bottle of memories into the bowl.

“Is it me, or is there more in this one?” Ron asked sceptically.

Harry eyed it, “There is.”

“Well, only one way to find out,” Hermione declared, holding her hands out to them.

They all shared long looks, and then grabbed her hand.

“On three?” Harry asked, “One – two – three – ”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Connection isn’t elegant, or precise, or rational. But it’s our fate to be bound up with one another, isn’t it? We are all born insufficient, and must look to others to supplement our strength. That is no weakness, it is the first condition of human life.” –Madeleine George (Watson: The (curious case of the) Watson Intelligence)

Ezio Auditore da Firenze.

Mother _fucker...._

They surfaced from the man's memories, from his death, sixty five, in the sun of Florence at peace for the first time since his childhood, his wife and daughter's faces imprinted behind his eyelids as his heart, scarred, battered, broken, and beating despite the decades of pain, so big and full of passion and love, finally stuttered to a stop.

Coming out of the memories was like surfacing from ice water, their lungs burning, and their skin painful and numb.

Hermione hiccuped, and then sobbed. Her legs folded under her, and she dropped to her knees, crying bitterly, dragging them down with her. All three of them in tears as they clung to each other.

Harry clung to them tightly like they were his only anchors in stormy seas as Hermione cried into Ron's shoulder, the red head's hand around Harry's back, fingered knotted white knuckled in his clothes even as he held Hermione tightly against him, one of her arms wound tight around his waist, even as her other hand gripped the back of Harry's neck tight enough that he could feel her _nails_ digging into his skin as he wept into her hair, his arms around them both.

Ezio –

_Ezio –_

_He just_ – he was **gone**.

Harry shifted, it felt like there was a fist clenching tight around his lungs, grief a hard heavy _burning_ lump in his stomach, weighing him down, making it hard to breathe, hard to think. All he could do was lean into his friends, and cry. Cry over a man he had never met, yet knew better than his own father, a man who – _fuck_.

They mourned him.

They mourned for a man so larger than life, so human, and incredible, that there were no words for it. Harry didn't know how to say it, how to describe it. He cried, bitter grief-stricken tears at the man's passing, as if he were family, as if he were precious, and he _was_! Even though they had never met, it didn't mean they didn't care, they _did_! They had been with him, on every step of his journey, from caring for his younger siblings, running errands for his mother, to the executions of his father and his brothers (God, Petruccio was only _thirteen_ , he was _Dennis's_ age), the Pazzi conspiracy, the destruction of Monteriggioni, the Apple of Eden, the Borgia, the Masyaf keys, _Altair's corpse and final words_....

It felt like his heart had been ripped out, his chest scraped hollow, and his flesh sewn rough shut over the gaping wound.

They cried, and cried, until none of them had anything left. And then they stayed there, wrapped around one another, clinging tightly to the only other people in the world who could understand their grief, who knew the man as they did, from birth to death, from the rise, the fall, and the peace that followed. The man who changed _everything_. Who... who changed _them_.

“I – _fuck_ , I can't – I – I'll do it,” Harry rasped, breathing deep against Hermione's hair as he felt the harsh lump in his stomach throb, the pain in his chest _writhe_ with the need to – to move, to do _something_. “I'm doing it. I'm – I don't know if there's anything left in England but I'm – I want to – I'm an assassin now,” he decided shakily.

He had none of the training, none of the skill, but after – after everything they had seen, everything they had experienced through the eyes of others, there was no other path he could have taken without regretting it later.

Hermione sniffed, and he felt her fingers flex on his neck, nails pressing and then lifting, “Not yet,” she croaked, “ _But we will be_ ,” she vowed, her voice harsh and dark against Ron's shoulder.

The red head sniffed, his breath shuddering wetly as he pulled away, using his robe sleeve to wipe his face, “Too bloody right,” he agreed, sniffing again.

Harry felt Hermione pull away and took a shuddering breath of his own as he pulled back and wiped his own face, looking over at Ezio's picture, it felt like getting kicked in the chest all over again as his eyes went hot and wet all over again. He looked away sharply, breathing harshly as he got to his feet, and then helped Hermione to hers.

She took one look at his face and hugged him again, wrapping her arms around him tightly and pressing her face into his shoulder. Harry hugged her back, tucking into her neck where his wet eyes couldn't be seen.

It was nice. Hugging her.

He could understand why Ezio was so – touchy.

Ron pressed up against him from behind, wrapping his arms around them both once more, and he felt one of Hermione's hands release him to wrap around the back of Ron's neck. It was nice. No one had ever – held him like this, never pressed themselves against him and just been there. He felt small and strange between them, like he was going to rattle himself to pieces and they were the only things holding him in place, keeping him in one piece.

He could feel Ron and Hermione exchanging looks over his head, and felt Hermione nod before she pulled her hands down and cupped his cheeks, “Come on Harry. Let's... Let's go to bed. It's been a long day,” she said softly, gently tilting his head so he could look her in the eyes. She had very pretty eyes, brown, not quite amber, like... like... a tawny yellow brown colour, so very clear, with long black eyelashes, and pale freckles.

He nodded slowly, in silence, and felt her take his hands, felt Ron's arm around his shoulder, warm and steady, as the two lead him down away from the office and its glowing penseive of memories, and the faces of dead men and women who deserved better.

They tugged him to the dormitories where all three of them ended up crawling into the same bed, kicking their shoes off, Hermione gently easing his filthy tear-streaked glasses from his face to be placed on the bedside, and clinging to one another again.

Harry slept, tangled between them, the sound of their voices in his ears, against his back and chest, Hermione's fingers in his hair, Ron's hands on his arms. He slept, and he didn't dream.

He woke up somewhen in the night, long after both of them had fallen asleep, a quick tempus charm told him it was four in the morning, and his bladder was demanding to be dealt with. It was difficult, but he managed to wriggle his way free of them, the emotional rollercoaster of the previous night had knocked them out just as much as him, and now they slept the rest of the exhausted, and slept hard. He grabbed the bedding from one of the other beds and gently spread it over them, hearing Hermione sigh in quiet relief, her limbs relaxing a little. She must have been cold. He left Ron's feet dangling out from under the blankets, knowing he overheated otherwise, and crept out of the room to use the facilities.

Finished, he stood in the corridor in silence and, after a moment of indecision, he returned to the office, to Ezio's memories, and began to put them away. Labelling their decanter, and carefully setting it in front of all the other bottles, his fingers lingering on the crystal for a moment before he looked up at the man's portrait, at the visage of him in his youth, angry, lost, and hurting.

He looked better as an old man, Harry felt, after he had abandoned his Hidden Blades and sword in Altair's tomb. And _God_ , that _hurt_ as well. To see the Mentor's body like that even though they had _known_ –

Angrily, he dashed the tears from his cheeks, “I don't know who Desmond Miles is, _Mentore_ , but if we find him, I promise we will pass on the messages. We won't – we won't let your teachings die,” he promised thickly, wiping his cheeks again as his vision began to blur. He had to take his glasses off to wipe his eyes properly before he shoved them back on, and, he floundered for a moment, unsure of what to _do_ or _say_ , before he sucked a breath in and bowed. First to Ezio, then to Altair, then Ratonhnhake:ton, Evie Frye, and everyone else in the room, all these memories, these lives, that would guide him and his, that would give them the tools to survive the oncoming storm, to _win_ , to _thrive_.

He left the office and made his way down the library stairs, only to stop at the balcony overlooking the training hall, at the spiral stairs that would lead downstairs back to the dormitories where Ron and Hermione were sleeping.

He turned, as if pulled by a thread, and walked into the second level of the lake chamber. The diving platform, and the climbing frames that lead to greater heights.

He stood at the very edge, he stared out over the water, his bare toes curling at the very edge of the wood and it felt like he could just.... take off then and there. If he closed his eyes it.... he could have been anywhere, any _one_.

He took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

He wasn't anywhere. And he _wasn't_ anyone.

And he wasn't alone.

He turned, and gave his bestfriends a wry smile, “Did I wake you? Sorry,” he said as they came up beside him, sleep rumpled and barefoot.

Ron grunted and crowded him, dropping his face into Harry's hair, making him blink in surprise. Hermione he had come to expect a level of physical affection from, Ron? Ron had always.... kept a distance. Whether it was because he had so many brothers he had become used to rough-housing, and, Harry knew his friend thought he was a bit _delicate_ given his height and weight being closer to Ginny's than any of his brothers. Or was it because _Harry_ had always kept that distance from him? The memories of older and wiser men and women gave him a fresh clarity and.... Harry knew he had always been withdrawn, always skittish, always.... subconsciously, he had come to expect physical contact to mean pain. Mrs Weasley was the only exception because she forced her affection onto him, smothering hugs and gentle touches, and constant love. Always love. And regardless of how overbearing she was, she was perhaps.... the only adult Harry knew would _never_ lay violent hands on him. _Ever_.

He closed his eyes and leaned into his friend, feeling Ron's other arm wind around his waist.

“You didn't. We woke up and you were gone, we got a little worried,” Hermione admitted.

Harry nodded against Ron's shoulder before shifting a little, nudging him with a shoulder. Ron grumbled but stepped back to give him some space, because if Harry stepped back he was going to go into the lake. “I thought.... Well, I put Ezio's memories away. And....” He looked up at the platforms overhead. “I thought.... we could make things official.”

Ron followed his gaze up, and then nodded, “The Leap.”

Hermione stepped up beside them and followed their eyes to the highest platform, her expression spasming with trepidation and determination in equal measure. “The Leap,” she agreed with a swallow.

“Together,” Harry said with a nod, holding a hand out to her.

She huffed a laugh and took it, “As always,” she agreed, holding a hand out to Ron.

He grinned, “Together.”

It took them several hours. Breakfast and morning classes passed them by as they climbed.

By themselves, they would have never made it to the top, but all three of them, working together, climbing the walls, reaching out for one another, catching one another, jumping to one another, lifting one another up, they made it. They climbed to the top of the platforms with their own hands and feet and each other. And stood at the highest point of the lake, hand in hand, at the very edge.

Harry looked at his friends on either side of him, “Ready?” he asked, feeling his stomach down somewhere by his tingling toes.

Ron nodded, his eyes incredibly blue in his pale freckled face, like pieces of the sky taken and hidden within his friend. His hair like fire in the gloom of the Room, glinting gold in fire-light.

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, her hand tightening its grip on his, clammy with sweat, her jaw set against her fear as she looked at him with complete trust and determination.

They Leaped as one.

 

* * *

 

It felt like he left something behind at the top of that tower, his fear, his regret, his _hesitation_.

They used the timeturner and went to their classes as different people.

Harry looked around at all the children around him and saw.... children.

He didn't see enemies, he didn't see annoyances, he saw the future. He saw his teachers, and recognised the lives they led before now, the people they were, the people they _are_. He looked at Ron and Hermione, and felt something new and wonderful and _certain_ settle in his bones when she smiled back at him, when he nudged him with an elbow or a shoulder and grinned quicksilver swift.

He smiled, and meant it.

And held his peace as he sat through his classes.

They went to the Room as soon as classes ended, and they, all three of them, changed into the Novice robes that fit them best, and conjured chairs to discuss what they were going to cover next.

“We can't just throw them into the memories,” Hermione said, looking very fine in her robes as she leaned back in her seat, hair braided back like Evie Frye's – the Master Assassin's memories including how to properly pull it back out of the way.

“They're here to learn magical defence,” Harry stated, “So that's what I'm teaching them. More than anything I want them safe. We made the decision to become Assassins off our own backs, that's _our_ choice, _our_ responsibility. I promised to teach them, I will. But unless they want, I'm not going to bring them in,” he declared unyieldingly.

Hermione held her hands up, palm out, “I'm not saying we should. But we aren't going to be able to keep it secret, and we can't exactly _tell_ them everything before letting them choose. Who knows what would happen, and I know there are people here I wouldn't trust to care for a Flobberworm, never mind a secret like this.”

Ron licked his lips, “Let's give it a few sessions. I don't know about you two, but I think I'm probably going to be here more often than not.” He grinned a little at the looks he got for that comment because _of course_ they were going to be right here _with_ him, fuck you very much. “They'll see what we're doing before long, they can ask then, and we can tell them that its specialist training. Secret, dangerous. That if they want in, they need to sign secrecy paperwork. They'll need to know there's consequences for signing it too.”

Harry nodded before looking at Hermione, “Speaking of, I'm going to tell them about the jinx on the paper, Hermione. That was underhanded, and normally I'd approve, but people need to know the facts before they made their decisions. They're kids, and they're scared.”

She nodded, guilt flickering across her face for a heartbeat.

And then they heard the doors opening, and the sound of voices.

They all exchanged looks, “Break time's over,” Ron joked as he pushed to his feet, cutting a long, intimidating figure with his lanky frame and broad shoulders in the robes.

Harry grunted and got up as well, stretching languidly with a groan, catching the strange glance he received from the red head before he turned away quickly to banish his own chair, ears pink. Harry blinked in bewilderment before glancing to Hermione who was smiling slyly at him from where she lounged comfortably in her chair looking like the cat that got the crème to wash the canary down.

“Whoa, look at you guys?” Angelina Johnson exclaimed as she lead the rest of the Gryffindor Chasers into the room. “New uniform?” she asked curiously.

Harry smiled and shook his head, “No. Just work out clothes we found in here. We've been trialling some more intense stuff and didn't want to get our clothes sweaty and gross,” he explained, technically true, but also a little bit of a white lie. “Can you guys partner up and start going over the Disarming Charm again? Ron, would you sub in as well?” he asked, looking to the red head who was stretching not too far away.

“Sure,” he agreed amiably.

The three girls split up and worked on their spelling, Harry gave them some more pointers, corrected a few little things here and there but moved away once he was sure they got the basic idea to help the next group that came in – the Hufflepuffs, Ernie, Hannah, Justin, Susan, and Zacharias. Hermione drew the short-straw and ended up working with Zacharias where that thus far well hidden ruthless streak Harry and Ron knew she had came out in full and both scared and _horrified_ the Hufflepuff boy with the bad attitude.

Almost everyone commented on the outfits that they were wearing, but the three stuck to their story, and thankfully their students didn't pry further, and the room didn't provide anything for them just yet – the other robes were still tucked away in the armoury, and would continue to do so until they decided to join them in becoming Assassins. Something Harry.... wasn't sure he wanted in all honesty. Not because he wanted to keep it as a secret kids club with Ron and Hermione, but because... they were _children_. They had their whole futures ahead of them, and becoming an Assassin was.... Altair and Ezio aside, a good way of dying young. A good way of having a lonely pain-filled life where the people you knew and loved, often died.

Normal, happy, well-adjusted, people did not become Assassins.

He wanted them to remain children for a while longer, even though he was training them to fight and survive a war, he looked at them and... and he saw Flavia, he saw Marcello, Khemu, Darim, Sef, Io:nhiote, Jennifer, Haytham, little Lydia Frye, and Kassandra's Phiobe. He saw promise for the future and a promise to improve it.

He didn't want to drag them into darkness, into death and blood and pain.

It was their _choice_ to make, but it was one he wanted to hide. At least for now.

So he taught them, and when he felt them acceptable in the Disarming Charm, he set them to learn the Impediment Jinx, and challenged them to hit him with it before he reached them.

None of them managed it that night, but they got close.

For the next two weeks.... it felt like he was carrying some kind of talisman inside, a glowing secret that supported him and grounded him through the worst of Umbridge's classes, and even made it possible for him to smirk indolently at her even as he looked her in the eye. Well aware that he was challenging her, but unable to do anything else. He thought the Templars would have liked this woman very much, and that made him hate her all the more. Made the small petty part of him squirm with glee every time she scowled suspiciously at him, every time he walked out of her classroom with his head held high, knowing that she hated him and could do nothing. There.... was a certain power to knowing that. To knowing her words were useless, pointless, and that she herself was weak and powerless and pathetic. To know she was aware he wasn't even paying her lessons attention, that the points she docked were meaningless, that even as he stared down at the book that was only fit for kindling (Sorry Sofia, but even you would have been disgusted by it), that he planned his next lesson, and his next training exercise.

His cute students were coming along so well, Neville was able to Disarm Hermione even in a serious duel, Colin had mastered the Impediment Jinx after three meetings' hard effort, and Pavarti proved herself quite the little powerhouse when she refused the rack of training weapons to dust with a flawless Reductor Curse.

Given how they were trying to manoeuvre around three different teams' Quidditch training, training that was often rescheduled due to bad weather. And since students crossing the Great Hall to talk to each other would be marked and noticed given the house-rivalries, Hermione developed a nifty means of quick communication using coins enchanted with the Protean Charm so that they could change the serial numbers to dates and times of the next DA meeting. With that under her belt, she began to explore the library of combat magic and other more assassin related information – like a book filled with Leonardo da Vinci's notes on how to construct the assassin's hidden blades. The squeal of glee she gave out when she found that could have been heard from the poles in the lake, where Ron and Harry were practising.

While she explored the library, Harry wrote out Ezio's prophesy. All the information he could glean about it, he went through Ezio's memories repeatedly to make sure he got it all, and that it was correct. The threat, the Apple, the Sanctuary, the Keys – and once he made the connection, the coordinates that Leonardo deciphered and thought were meaningless (and that would never not be weird and amazing, being friends with Leonardo da Vinci, with Michaelangelo, with Macciovelli, the 'Masters' of the classical arts and philosophy of the renaissance era), but in fact led directly to the lands once protected by Ratonhnhake:ton's tribe once upon a time ago. With the Prophesy written out, and addressed to 'Desmond Miles' for whenever Harry could find him, he then went through the memories of Kassandra, separating out each individual thread and storing them separately, labelled, and wrote a ledger of each individual strand and its importance. He wasn't even halfway through her life yet, and her memories were the shortest collection of them all.

Ron wrote down concepts for lessons for the DA in the meanwhile. It was still very much Harry's show, but with the smaller Gryffindor consumed by recording and organising the lives of their forebears, Ron took it on himself to ease the burden a little bit by considering what would have been useful in their past adventures and presenting them as ideas for the next lesson. They were still very much going with the flow, and since none of them had any access to any information on their OWLs, they were just teaching their classmates whatever seemed applicable. Almost none of the spells they had learned were actually ones taught in class, they were almost all of them ones that Harry and Hermione dug up last year while preparing for the Triwizard Tournament. He also started making training plans for _them_. Organising their classtimes, DA meetings, Quidditch training, homework time (because he knew Hermione would flip if they didn't set some aside), and their own training – the only way to do it all was to abuse the timeturner, and oh, they did, horribly so. They practically moved into the Room so as not to waste a moment. Squeezing two days into the one, spending half of one day physically training, the rest in study, before sleeping, going back, and attending their classes only to come straight back to the room and continue physical training before going to bed ready to start again.

They worked primarily at mastering the acrobatics that so categorised an Assassin in motion, figuring that the improved awareness, balance, agility, and perception would only aid them later when they began weapon training, and help them build the physical strength and endurance to do so.

Predictably, Harry made it across the training poles first. But he kept running them alongside Ron and Hermione until they managed it as well, not moving on without them. And then they all moved onto the aerial assault course above the sandpits.

None of them were particularly sure about doing this sort of thing without a soft landing, but they did it anyway.

They fell. So much.

Harry and Hermione often ended up in the infirmary with twisted ankles and bruises that they were forced to learn how to heal out of books through necessity, thankfully without too much trouble. Ron broke his wrist though, and for that they needed Madam Pomfrey.

Thankfully, Novice Robes transfigured easy and it wasn't too late in the day where they would get in trouble for being out of bounds.

She seemed suspicious of how interested they all were in watching her work, asking her questions, at least until Hermione pointed out just how often they ended up in the Hospital Wing, and how they wanted to be able to take care of themselves – what if they didn't get here in time next time, or if they _couldn't_ for whatever strange and dangerous reason? She was reluctant, but could see the wisdom in it, and directed them to some books, telling them that if they had questions to come back and ask.

They put their own training on hold to learn those spells, and once they had them down pat, even taught the DA members how to perform them once they were sure they had it correct. And then they went right back at it, throwing themselves at the training with more vigour and determination than ever – no longer fearful of pain or injury now that they knew they could heal one another.

Quidditch was a secondary interest at best for Harry right now, he focused his all into it at practice, and as October slid into November the corridors became increasing hostile as tensions ramped up. The Slytherins really stepped up their game as far as insults and mockery went, constantly trying to beat down the confidence of the Gryffindor players, even going so far as to curse them while their backs were turned.

Their behaviour might have, once upon a time ago, managed to get to Ron who was unused to such concentrated and sustained negative emotion and tension. But after their training, after the memories, he was settled in himself in a way that couldn't be shaken, not in the least by the likes of Draco Malfoy who mimed dropping a quaffle every time they got close. Or at least he did, until Ron snickered at him and praised him for his acting skills, asking if he was aiming for a career as a Quidditch Mascot since he'd never make it as a player. Harry grinned like the proud idiot he was for the rest of the day.

The difference in the three of them were marked, the results of their training growing harder to ignore, for the members of the DA, and for Harry himself – distressingly enough.

Lanky Ron Weasley was bulking up considerably, arms gaining definition that his robes hid quite well – but only ended up highlighting the broadening of his shoulders and deepening of his chest, and the way his waist had begun to taper as the puppyfat that Mrs Weasley so lovingly padded her children with was worked off. The red head was growing up, and Harry found it hard to look away these days – and he wasn't the only one. Lavender and Pavarti definitely approved judging by the whispering and giggling. And so did Hermione, her smiles shading with appreciation and affection as she raked her eyes up and down him as he passed her.

And Ron wasn't the _only_ one changing, growing up, and becoming distressingly attractive. Hermione was slimming down, and gaining inches in all sorts of interesting places, her long legs now curved and defined with growing muscle, she moved smoothly with an almost hypnotic sway of her hips that grabbed _both_ Ron and Harry by their nose-hair and forced them to follow her as she passed – leaving them both staring at her shapely behind in silent appreciation until they realised just what they were ogling and quickly scrambled to get back to work with bright red faces (and Hermione's laughter echoing back at them). Ron was giving her the eye a lot lately, and Harry would put money on them finally getting together by New Year. They would be good for each other. Ron could dial Hermione down a little, stop her from burnout, and she could push him to fulfil his potential. Not only that, but they had been crushing on each other for years without ever even realising it – until Krum appeared on the scene and forcibly pulled Ron's head from his ass.

Then, one day, they found Ginny and Luna waiting for them in the training hall, each wearing their own white Novice robes. Ginny scowled stubbornly at them, her white clad arms folded as she squared her feet; beside her, Luna just watched them.

“We want in,” the red headed girl declared strongly. “Whatever extra training you're doing, we want it.”

The trio exchanged looks, they had expected this, but hadn't thought it would happen until Christmas at least.

“Altair?” Ron suggested.

“Evie,” Hermione corrected, “Less depressing.”

Harry shook his head, “Ezio.”

Ron nodded slowly, “Yeah. Probably for the best. If anyone could convince them.... Alright, Ezio it is. Then Altair?”

“Ezio, Altair, Ratonhnhake:ton, and then the others, if they're interested,” Harry decided before looking to his female friend, “Hermione, could you take them – ” he began to ask only to go quiet in confusion when she shook her head with a small smile.

“No, Harry. You're our leader, you should do it,” she told him proudly.

Oh.

He sucked in a breath, feeling it shudder in his throat. She was right, she always was, it... He started this, he _should_ be the one to guide their new Initiates through the lives of their forebears. The... new Novices.

God.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reirei requested that Harry basically became Ezo 2.0 Slutatron 2000, mentioned threesomes, someone wanted R/H/Hr and my brain went places. So please accept this incredibly thirsty and distressed Harry who is noticing his friends are very hot and doesn't know how to handle it. It's not an end-game pairing, but they'll definitely have their time.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I suppose it’s all perspective, really. Some people see the bad things that happen to them as a burden, others as potential for growth.” –Rebecca Roanhorse (Kai Arviso: Trail of Lightning)

Ginny and Luna broke down crying as soon as they surfaced from Ezio's memories.

Harry was a little more prepared for it this time, he got the two bundled up into blankets and sat with them in the office, holding them tightly until they cried themselves out.

“Y-you decided to be assassins,” Ginny muttered, wiping her face on his shoulder, curling tightly into his side.

“Yeah. It... after what we saw.... I don't think we could have done anything else without....” he tried to explain only for Luna to nod on his otherside.

“Without regretting it,” she finished as she sat back, rubbing her face with her sleeve. “I think... I should like to become an assassin as well, Harry Potter. If I may,” she admitted quietly, her voice carrying none of its usual misty absent qualities as she stared him down with red rimmed eyes.

“It'll be dangerous,” he warned, and grunted when Ginny punched him in the stomach, glaring at him.

“That is _not_ going to stop us!” she snapped, her voice high and strained with emotion.

Harry nodded silently, and then got to his feet, “Come on. You're going to need to sleep that kind of thing off, trust me,” he muttered, gently helping Luna to her feet before holding a hand out to Ginny, “We'll talk about it tomorrow, I promise,” he swore when she didn't immediately take his hand. Sniffing, the red head grabbed it and let him pull her to her feet.

“I'll hold you to that, Potter,” she warned threateningly, even as she wiped at her still leaking eyes, her gaze sliding past him to Ezio's picture and her face screwing up once more in grief.

Eventually Harry was able to herd the two tearful girls down to the dormitories – passing himself, Ron, and Hermione as they attempted to fend off the twins.

And immediately failed the second the two of them spotted a second Harry shepherding their crying baby sister down the stairs.

Good thing the DA had been finished for an hour already and the twins were the only ones there to see it. He ignored the sudden noise as they got loud and alarmed at the sight of their sister, trusting his older self and his friends to keep them back as he got the two girls down the stairs and into the dormitories. They went into one of the beds without argument, and he stayed with them until exhaustion dragged them under and they fell asleep before heading back out again, finding Ron and Hermione in the hall, but no sign of himself or the twins.

He sighed, “Let me guess,” he grumbled.

“They'd be a good addition,” Hermione pointed out remorselessly, “They also threatened to tell Mrs Weasley what we were doing if no one told them why Ginny was crying. Ron cracked.”

He slumped.

“Sorry man,” the red head offered quietly, sheepish, but not exactly regretful.

Ezio's memories took about six and a half hours to go through, it was a lot of information and it was _dense_ , bright, and intense. Harry already had a headache from going through it once today, he –

That was why the timeturner. Right. Okay.

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Okay. I'll.... I'm going to grab a quick nap, and then go back to the start of the meeting. When did people start showing up?” he asked. It was important that they didn't make anyone suspicious of what they were doing before they were ready, bad enough that Ginny, Luna, and now the twins were aware, but at least they could be trusted. If it were Michael Corner, or Zacharias Smith, or even Ernie Macmillan, or Susan Bones, he wouldn't be nearly as cavalier about the discovery.

He went back to the dorms and crashed out for a few hours, waking only when his little alarm charm started chirping in his ear. He grumbled, hauling himself to his feet and shuffled out of the dormitories with a grumpy yawn as he went to the baths, cleaned up, and then went back to the tower where he found Fred, George, and himself stood face first in the penseive.

Hermione was right, they looked ridiculous.

He used the time-turner to go back to five o'clock, fifteen minutes before the first people arrived, but twenty after they ran into Ginny and Luna. When he appeared in the office, he saw the girls and himself yet again in the pensive and snorted in amusement as he hid it back behind Bayek's portrait, and gave the man a brief bow of respect before he left the room.

“That was quick – time-turner?” Hermione asked when she saw him coming down the stairs, he nodded, yawning.

“Going through those memories always give me a headache, I took a nap,” he muttered lazily even as he dropped his forehead onto her shoulder. She laughed and petted his hair.

“Poor thing,” she teased, “It's such a _hard_ life.”

He poked her in the side, “Yes, yes it _is,_ Hermione,” he retorted pointedly as she squirmed away with an offended yelp, he poked her again, making her squeak and try to slap his hand away. He grinned, she scowled, and the game was on.

Hermione turned on heel and ran, a whirl of white as she spun past him and sprinted for the lake. He grinned, taking off after her as she bounded across the poles, as sure footed as she jumped as she was on land, landing on the otherside of the training course with a small skid before she took off across the otherside of the lake back towards the hall – only to jump before she got there, leaping and grabbing the first ledge on the second floor. She hauled herself up and smirked at him over her shoulder. Challenge clear.

He huffed in amusement, cheeky.

He took off, hardly feeling his feet touching the ground as he charged across the poles and tapped the cave wall as he sprinted down the walk-way, and leapt.

Her eyes went wide as he grabbed the platform, swinging forward and then using the backward momentum to swing himself up, get a leg under him, and climb up.

She bolted, racing down the short corridor to the hall where she threw herself into the rafters.

She didn't get far.

Harry swung up and over her, and using the bar in front of her, tackled her down to the sand below.

The two landed and rolled to a messy stop, breathless and laughing.

“Got you!” the fifteen year old boy crowed breathlessly.

Hermione laughed and shoved a handful of sand in his hood, unable to think of anything to say, or too out of breath to say anything as she rolled away from any retaliation and sat up, shaking sand out of her hair.

“Whoooohohohoa!”

The two looked up to see the twins not too far away, watching them with wide eyes and grins, “That was _awesome_!” one of them exclaimed, Harry was pretty sure it was Fred.

“Wicked cool. Is ickle Ronnikins doing this too?” George demanded.

“Not so ickle anymore, brother mine,” Fred corrected, looking a little perturbed by the thought.

“Indeed, brother mine,” George agreed unhappily.

Thankfully they were saved from having to explain with the timely arrival of the Hufflepuff contingent, the twins quickly shutting up and retreating with unhappy glowers in Zacharias Smith's direction. Harry snorted but couldn't really blame them, he was one of the few people here that he _didn't_ trust – in fact, he would have been astonished that he was a Hufflepuff if he didn't recall that Helga refused to turn a student away. She might value loyalty and hardwork above all else, but she took every student regardless, whether they held those qualities or not.

He wondered how that knowledge affected Smith.

Knowing day in and day out that he had been unwanted, that he was considered 'leftovers' by the other houses, by even his own housemates who had been chosen for those qualities, that he was only a student here at Hogwarts because of Helga's kindness, or pity. God, that must burn. He should pull the blond aside at some point, make sure he was alright. It was no wonder he had such a chip on his shoulder. Five years of sharing a dormitory with Ernie, who nice as he was happened to be the most obnoxious kind of braggart, would have been wearing on anyone never mind someone who already felt low and unwelcome. It was actually a wonder Smith wasn't worst now that Harry gave it some serious thought.

He shook himself out of his thoughts once he saw everyone present and milling around the room in small groups and clapped loudly to gain their attention, “Welcome back. We're going to start a bit of a long term project tonight. Given how long it took me, and the fact that we're coming up to the Christmas period where most of you will be going home, I'd like to at the very least get you started with this spell so you'll have _something_ by the time you leave,” he explained as he prowled to the front of the room. “Now, this is the hardest spell I know, so I'm _not_ expecting you to get it today, next week, or even by Christmas. But the sooner we start, the quicker you'll have _something_ at the very least.” He looked around at all the suddenly eager faces around him and nodded, flicking his wand out, “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ” he commanded, pointing his wand to the side where there would be space for Prongs to come out.

Only it _wasn't_ Prongs that burst from the tip of his wand.

It was an eagle.

Harry froze for a split second in confusion, what had – what had happened to Prongs? Why the eagle? Who did _that_ even represent?

The huge silvery bird wheeled around to the noisy appreciation of his students before tucking its wings in and diving down to land on Harry's shoulder, barely having any weight to it even as he felt talons grip his padded shoulder and then relax. Undeniably there, but... weightless. He eyed it, and then spotted the scar across the right side of its beak, and all at once he knew exactly who, and what, the eagle represented. He preened smugly at being recognised, and Harry could only roll his eyes before turning his attention back to his eager students (and confused friends).

“The Patronus Charm is the act of using positive emotion to summon a magical guardian. It's incredibly personal as the summoned creature often represents someone or something that you associate with safety or protection,” he explained ignoring the looks he was getting from Ron and Hermione as the patronus eagle ruffled himself and then started to fuss at his hair. Harry grimaced and leaned away in annoyance. “Your Patronus can also change as you age and go through personal experiences. For example, earlier this year my patronus was a Stag. My father's unregistered animagus form to be precise, as I associated my father with the feeling of protection.

“Ezio here,” he grunted feeling the eagle flap its wings and hop _onto_ his head, much to the hilarity of everyone watching, “is a much more recent development, and much more representative of the man's teachings than he himself.” The eagle chose this moment to spread his wings and take off, vanishing into wisps and swirls of light above everyone's heads, leaving the hall strangely dull and gloomy without his light.

“Everyone spread out,” he called taking a few steps back to give them all space. “Don't worry about your wands just yet, we'll work on pronunciation first. Now, repeat after me: Ex-Pect-Oh Pat-Ro-Num. Ex-pect-oh Pat-ro-num.”

He went around the room checking everyone's pronunciation, no problems, and then directed them to thinking of their happiest memories before telling them to try the spell again. Common memories were of winning a Quidditch match, which was powerful given how it was the players themselves using the memory, but he suggested something a little more intense, more personal. Like the birth of a sibling, a parent coming home after a long time away. Happiness was incredibly powerful, and maybe when they were a little more practised they might be able to call their patroni with it alone, but at this early stage, learning the charm, he recommended throwing some love in.

And that was when a burst of light and a vague wisp of a shape slashed from the tip of _Ron's_ wand, to the noisy congratulations of everyone in the room. He went absolutely bright red, glancing at Harry and ducking his head into his robes looking both pleased and mortified. Harry grinned, proud but confused. Weird reaction, unless he was embarrassed by the memory that managed to trigger such a strong reaction?

Knowing Ron, that was actually quite likely.

To save him from further embarrassment and questioning, Harry quickly turned the rest of them back to work, pointing out that Ron had managed it and if they worked hard they could too, back to it! By the end of the evening, both Fred and George could summon a brief burst of white light each, Ron's patronus was a solid blob that hadn't yet obtained a defined form but was very much there, and Justin Finch-Fletchley could call a white shadow that looked like some kind of four legged animal but so was so pale and insubstantial that it was all they _could_ see.

He dismissed them all in the usual fashion, checking the map for patrolling teachers and prefects that would cause them trouble before sending them out in groups of threes and fours. The twins stuck around like he knew they would, and were now alternating between heckling their little brother, asking about what memory he chose with Ron going bright red once more and clamping his mouth shut in stubborn silence, and pestering Hermione for information on what she and Harry had been doing when they arrived before the meeting. Harry snickered a little so himself as he bade Cho and her friend Marietta goodbye, he had better go and save the twins from their younger brother before he decided to shut them up personally.

“You did well with the Patronus Charm,” he interrupted as he joined them.

The two preened, “Well, we _are_ geniuses,” Fred informed him loftily.

“Used a good memory more like,” Ron muttered a little resentfully.

George nodded without shame, “Day Harrykins gave us his Triwizard winnings. No way we could start up A Weasley's Wizard Wheezes without it.”

Harry grinned, “I'm glad. And I meant what I said when I handed it over.” Securing a future for them, helping them achieve their dreams, he was happy to do so, and both pleased and flattered that he had made them happy enough to fuel a Patronus.

Ron made a weird noise, part pain and part surprise, turning bright red as his face spasmed, staring at Harry desperately before he shook his head and turned away, rubbing his mouth with quiet curses of disbelief.

Fred interrupted before he could ask what was wrong, looking thoughtful, “I... used fourth year. When we heard you'd rescued Ginny. Actually seeing her again after you got her out of the Chamber. Never _did_ thank you for that,” he admitted thoughtfully.

“No need,” Harry rushed to deny, pink and mortified, “No way Ron and I wouldn't have done everything we could to save her. You'd do the same for us.”

“What memory do _you_ use?” George suddenly asked, “Must be a good one to make the spell that solid.”

He grimaced, “Uh... You can do it without a happy memory if you get good enough, or practice hard enough. You kinda have to if you ever come face to face with a Dementor, trying to recall a happy memory when its actively sucking on you is hard. But since we're figuring the spell out, using a happy memory is just the easiest way to get it off the ground,” he explained, carefully skirting around the fact that he didn't _have_ any memories happy enough to fuel a Patronus, that he kind of just.... brute forced it with sheer determination and the absolute certainty that he could do the spell. Self-belief was very powerful. When he first cast that spell to save himself and Sirius in his third year he didn't _have_ any memories to use, just an overwhelmingly powerful _need_ to protect his godfather and the absolute certainty that he could, because he already _had_. If he hadn't gone with Hermione and used the timeturner, he would have never believed himself capable, never managed to pull the spell off, and never would have survived the altercation.

The twins clearly hadn't caught on, but judging by the expression of open mouthed horror on Hermione's face, and how Ron had frozen, hand over his mouth, blue- _blue_ eyes wide and staring at him from under his hood, they _had_ noticed. Fuck. Great.

Thank _god_ that was when his youngerself appeared with Ginny and Luna, and immediately distracted everyone.

“Ginny!” Fred yelped, taking a step forward only to have Hermione slide neatly in front of him and stop him with a hand to the chest. “What happened?! Why are there two Harrys?”

“What did you do to our sister?!” George snarled, not even able to take a step forward when Ron grabbed hold of his robes and hauled him back with far more ease than a fifteen year old should have been able to. But then, Ron had put on a lot of muscle – to the point where they had been forced to charm his robes a little to continue _fitting_.

“Calm down!” the younger red head barked, yanking George and then pulling, practically forcing him to the floor, biceps flexing and straining the fabric of his robes. Harry shook himself and turned his attention back to Fred who was looking at Hermione as if he was wondering how he could go through her without getting his testicles ripped off. Judging by the smirk on her lips, it wasn't going to be happening.

“She's in mourning,” Harry explained, making the two stop and stare at him sceptically. He shrugged, “Part of the information we found in the room included memories. They just watched someone's entire life, from birth, to death. They're mourning him. Ezio just..... does that. Makes you care.” He shrugged, unable to really put it into any other words. Ezio was a charismatic son of a bitch (utter love and respect for Maria Auditore, god, so much of her sass was embodied in her son), just watching his life was enough to make you want to side with him, want to join his cause. There was a _reason_ he brought the Brotherhood back from the brink, revived it.

“Ezio,” George echoed, “That's what you called the patronus,” he said frowning suspiciously.

“Which I am never not going to find hilarious by the way,” Ron chimed in, grinning at the dirty look Harry threw him. He sobered and stared at his brothers, taking several steps back to stand with Harry, a visible show of support. One made all the more obvious by the matching clothes as Hermione joined them. “Ezio was wrapped up in some heavy stuff. Ginny wanted in and nothing we said was going to change her mind. What happens next is on her, that's her choice and her responsibility,” he declared firmly.

George scowled, “If you don't tell us what made _Ginny_ cry, I'm telling mum everything. The DA, the weird jumping around on the ceiling, the weapons,” he gestured to the weapon racks around them, “all of it,” he threatened.

Ron huffed, “Okay, okay, keep your hair on.”

There is was.

“Okay,” Harry said when his friend turned to him, mouth opening.

“Okay?” Ron echoed, surprised and pleased in equal measure.

“Okay,” he agreed kindly, smiling at him, knowing he was about to try and argue the twins' case, knowing it was pointless. The twins were trustworthy, they were old enough to make their own choices.

There was a moment of silence before the red head turned pink, and scowled, turning away and folding his arms in embarrassment, “Okay.”

 

* * *

 

Two Ezio experiences in a day.

No wonder he had a headache the size of Rome.

His eyes were _burning_ and _itching_ with exhaustion as he lead pair of silent and shell-shocked twins back down to the dormitories where he got them crashed out on a bed together. He stuck around until they fell into sleep, and pretended not to see the way George rolled over and buried his face into his pillow and gasped ragged and wet until Fred curled into his back and threw an arm around him. He left once he was sure they were comfortable, and went to the otherside of the room where he could see Ron and Hermione in one of the beds, looking soft and comfortable tangled up together in a nest of blankets and pillows. Good. They deserved it, deserved each other and all the happiness in the world.

He smiled a little to himself, pleased that they had managed to come to an understanding, and took himself to one of the other beds separated by a wooden screen, wrestling himself free of his belts as he did so. He was quiet as he set the belts on the dresser, not wanting the clinking and clattering of metal to wake anyone as he kicked his boots off.

He was halfway through wriggling out of his robes when someone grabbed him from behind – scaring the shit out of him until he recognised whose hands it was currently pressed flat across his bare chest and stomach. “Hermione – ” he whispered scoldingly only to have her pull him backwards while his head and shoulders were still trapped in white fabric.

“You're not sleeping alone after watching Ezio's life for the second time today, Harry. No way. Come to bed,” she told him firmly, her voice a fierce whisper so as not to wake anyone up.

He stumbled as she pulled, twisting and wriggling until he finally got his robes off, practically throwing his glasses off in the process and losing them somewhere in the dark. He would have to _accio_ them tomorrow morning but –

“Hermione, what about Ron? I don't think – ”

“Stop thinking,” the red head growled from the pile of blankets, voice rough with sleep. “You're rubbish at it. Now come here,” he ordered, shifting the blankets open just as Hermione got a good grip and then twisted them around, giving him a very judicious shove and toppling him with a muffled squawk into the bed, and his bestfriend's chest as he stared lazily at him, softly, in the half-light, eyes lowered, lips soft, and – Harry went red in horror when he realised where he was looking, and what he was thinking.

He jerked as if burnt, and tried to jackknife back to his feet out of the bedding only to be thwarted as Hermione practically landed on him, pinning him to the bed with a sigh of contentment, wriggling and rubbing soft and squishy things against him in a way that was _horrifyingly unfair_ even as Ron snapped an arm out and dragged him up close.

He whined in distress, and felt Hermione's hand on his chest start stroking his skin even as she nuzzled into the back of his neck, “Shhh, Harry, it's okay. We've got you. You're not going anywhere,” she told him soothingly, “We want you here,” she promised, squeezing him, making his stomach twist almost violently.

“Go to sleep, mate,” Ron rumbled, tucking him closer under his chin.

Harry whimpered, feeling Hermione squirm even closer against his back, soft lumps and curves and – he was absolutely never going to get any sleep like this. He was going to die. That was what.

This was appallingly unfair. And he didn't know what to do.

They were together, right? Ron and Hermione. Or at least very close to it. Were... were they trying to be good friends, or were they trying to deny their feelings for each other by pretending that they treated all their friends like this? He didn't know what to do, he didn't want to fuck anything up between them, between them and him either. This wasn't how friends treated each other, was it? He didn't think so. Nothing in any of the Masters' memories suggested this level of intimacy or affection between friends, though it came close from time to time.

“Stop panicking,” Ron mumbled, “Just go to sleep.”

Easier said than done, Harry thought almost hysterically, but... he took a deep breath and tried to force himself to relax. He was safe with them, they cared about him, he knew that without a doubt. No matter what was going on between them, with him, without him, it didn't matter. Not really. They were together and that was all that mattered in the long run.

He slept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ron and Hermione: *exist*
> 
> Harry: *panicked bisexual noises*


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If you’re gonna use me as a stepping stone, you’d better step hard.” –attributed to Shawn Michaels

He woke with a jolt of alarm, “Today's the Quidditch match,” he blurted suddenly into Ron's throat.

There was a single moment of silence before suddenly _both_ of them were swearing and rolling out of bed, Hermione squeaking suddenly as her pillows vanished, the two scrambling up from the floor where they had fallen and bolting across the room. Ron went out immediately to grab food, Harry went to wake the twins, and Hermione groaned flopping back in their shared bedding.

“It's barely eight o'clock!” the girl complained loudly, waking both Ginny and Luna judging by the sounds of sleepy inhales and grunts that came from their bed.

“But we need to get breakfast, get down to the pitch and get changed ready for the match!” Fred exclaimed, hopping on one foot as he struggled to get his shoe on even as Harry whipped out of their section, summoning his robe and glasses as he bolted down the corridor to the dining room.

“Ron! Don't bother, we have to eat in the Great Hall! Too many people will be suspicious if we skip today!” he shouted even as he dragged his clothes on, his actual clothes, not his training robes.

He heard his friend swear, and it was in short order that the four boys were rushing out of the Room of Requirement after only a cursory glance at the map to make sure Madam Umbridge was still in her office and Filch was prowling around the kitchens before they were sprinting for the Great Hall. It was both surprising and _not_ as Harry and Ron leaped down entire flights of stairs, swung themselves over banisters to land a floor below as a staircase moved below them – they knew these corridors, how the staircases moved, and now they had the physical prowess to navigate them like no other.

They left the twins in the dust without ever even realising it as they slowed to a jog a corridor away from the Great Hall, only a little out of breath as they straightened their clothes. The Great Hall was filling up fast when they arrived, the talk louder and the mood more exuberant than usual, as was typical for a Quidditch day. As they passed the Slytherin table there was an upsurge of noise, making the two of them glance over. It was a bit odd, in addition to the usual hats and scarves in house colours, as well as little flags supporting their house team, almost all of them also wore a little silver badge in the shape of a crown. For some reason many of them waved at Ron, laughing uproariously.

“ _Weasley is our King_ , huh,” the red head observed making Harry glance at him and squint at the nearest badge. Huh. That was _exactly_ what it said.

“Nice to know the Slytherins recognise their superiors,” Harry commented lightly, just loud enough to be heard. Ron snorted and burst out laughing as several of the grins on their faces froze and dropped in horror. He nudged his friend with a snicker as they passed the Slytherin table, “Does this mean I should be kneeling or something?” he asked playfully as they took their seats.

“I wouldn't say no,” the red head quipped with a snicker, before cutting himself off suddenly and going red, looking away, “Oh, they've got kippers, brilliant!” he exclaimed, voice high as he immediately reached for the breakfast dishes. Leaving Harry feeling wrong footed like he had just missed a step in a dance, or he'd skipped a chapter of a book somehow because... he could have _sworn_ that Ron just _flirted_ but – that was – he couldn't have. He was reading too much into this and needed to not fuck his friendships up just because his hormones decided now was the best time to sit up and punch him in the face.

He shook himself and quickly turned to his food, dishing himself up a hearty breakfast and getting stuck in just as the twins finally made their appearance, panting and staring at them in disbelief. Harry grinned a little at the looks, but carried on eating. It wasn't long after the twins sat down and started eating that Angelina came hurrying towards them, Alicia and Katie in tow.

“When you're ready,” she said, “we're going to go straight down to the pitch, check out conditions and change.”

Harry nodded, swallowing his eggs, “We'll be there in a bit,” he promised as Hermione appeared in the doorway and joined them. Harry and Ron finished eating first, but waited another ten minutes for Hermione to finish up her food before they all got to their feet.

“Good luck, Ron,” she said, standing on tip-toe to kiss the red head on the cheek. “And you, Harry,” she said, turning and doing the same to him. He saw her coming, felt her hand on his shoulder and warmth as she got close. He could just.... turn a little, tilt his head back a bit. It would be easy, really, to pretend it was an accident when her lips landed on his. He didn't. He turned red and looked away, and felt her lips on his cheek instead of his suddenly weird feeling mouth.

“See you at the victory party,” he said through numb lips with a grin he didn't really feel before leading the way out of the Great Hall and out through the Entrance Hall into the icy morning.

Frost rimed grass crunched satisfyingly under foot as they hurried down the sloping lawns towards the stadium, there was no wind to speak of and the sky was a not so clear pearly-coloured white which at least guaranteed no rain, even if it was going to be _bitter_ up in the air. Damn good visibility too – even if the cold was going to make keeping their eyes open actually painful. He muttered an aside to Ron to charm his goggles so they wouldn't steam up and blind him in the air, pushing aside all superfluous thoughts and anxieties away to focus entirely on the up-coming match. Ground was frozen pretty solid, hitting it would hurt more than usual, keep your wand close at hand.

Angelina had already changed by the time they walked in, all the girls were present, and they were now just waiting on the twins whom Harry and Ron knew wouldn't be long – Fred had been chugging a pint of apple juice when they left, plate empty, while George was practically inhaling the last of his porridge. The Beaters showed up as Harry and Ron were in the midst of pulling their robes on and lacing up their armour. All around them, the babble of voices and the usual pre-match furore was growing as more and more students made their way into the stands.

“Okay,” Angelina declared, drawing everyone's attention as she stood at the door of the changing room where everyone could see her, “I've only just found out the final line-up for Slytherin. Last year's beaters, Derrick and Bole, have left. But it looks as though Montague's replaced them with the usual gorillas rather than anyone who can fly particularly well. They're two blokes called Crabbe and Goyle, I don't know but about them – ”

“We do,” Harry and Ron chorused together in tones of great regret.

“Well, they don't look bright enough to tell one end of a broom from the other,” Angelina decided as she stuffed the sheet of parchment she had been reading from back into her pocket. “But then again, I was always surprised Derrick and Bole managed to find their way on to the pitch without signposts.”

Harry would have liked to tell her that Crabbe and Goyle were of the same mould, but, he had a fresher perspective than before. He turned it over in his mind thoughtfully, “They're fifth years, like us. They tend to book-end Malfoy at all times so they'll defer to him over Montague when it comes to orders. They'll also _protect_ him on the pitch over anyone else. Both of them are pretty strong, but I can't credit them with good aim. Goyle is perhaps the smarter of the two, or the more cunning one. It's hard to tell with Slytherins. Both of them are more bite than bark, but they're slow, and won't move without Malfoy's say so.” He looked at Ron to see if he had anything else to add but the red head shrugged.

They could hear hundreds of footsteps now, thundering through the wood like rain, filling the stands. Some people had started some kind of chanting song, but despite the somewhat catchy tune, none of the words were audible this far away. Must have been somewhere in the Slytherin or Hufflepuff stands.

“It's time,” Angelina declared, checking her watch. “C'mon everyone, good luck.”

The team rose as one, shouldered their brooms, and marched in single file out of the changing room and into the dazzling sunlight. The sound of the audience was like walking into a wall and Harry had to pop his ears.

The Slytherin team were standing opposite waiting for them. They were wearing their little crown badges, and Harry had to suppress his snort of amusement as he realised that no one thought to tell them about what Ron actually thought of them. Their new captain, Montague, was built along the same lines as Dudley with massive hairy forearms. He looked far better suited to being a beater himself than a chaser. Harry remembered him as being fairly fast in the air, but like all the Slytherin players, more apt to foul-play than actual skill. Somehow he didn't think their tactics were going to change now that Marcus Flint was no longer in the picture. Behind him lurked Crabbe and Goyle, larger than Harry remembered them for some reason, blinking slowly in the sunlight and swinging their new beaters bats, testing the weight and swing of them. Malfoy stood to one side, sunlight gleaming on his white-blond head. It was a shame he was such a little shit, he could almost be called attractive, at least until he pulled _that_ face, smirking nastily at Harry as he tapped the little crown-shaped badge on his chest.

Harry and Ron exchanged speaking glances as Madam Hooch called for the captains to shake hands. Did they tell Malfoy now, or wait until they won?

“Mount your brooms!” Madam Hooch called, preventing them from reaching a decision as they quickly moved to comply.

There was barely a pause as she blew her whistle, the balls burst from their case, and the players shot into the air like a flock of startled birds.

Flying after weeks of assassin training was... _different_.

It felt like the Firebolt was hypersensitive beneath him, every shift and flick of his body, of his balance, and the broom reacted. As to be expected from a League standard broom, and now Harry had the ability to properly fly it. He blinked rapidly as he reached his preferred altitude, eyes itching fiercely as he looked for that familiar tell-tale glint of gold.

“ **And it's Johnson – Johnson with the Quaffle, what a player that girl is, I've been saying it for years but she still won't go out with me –** ”

“ **JORDAN!** ” Professor McGonagall's voice interrupted stringently over the commentators audio.

“ – **just a fun fact, Professor, adds a bit of interest – and she's ducked Warrington, she's passed Montague, she's – out – been hit from behind by a bludger from Crabbe... Montague catches the quaffle, Monstague heading back uip the pitch and – nice bludger work there from George Weasley, that's a bludger to the head for Montague, he drops the quaffle, caught by Katie Bell, Katie Bell of Gryffindor reverse-passes to Alicia Spinnet and Spinnet's away –** ”

Lee Jordan's commentary filled the stadium, white noise for all that Harry tried to keep track of it as he focused through the bitterly cold whistling wind, the roar of the crowd, the yelling, booing – _singing?_

“ – **dodges Warrington, avoids a bludger – close call, Alicia – and the crowd are loving this, just listen to them, what's that they're singing?** ”

Probably nothing good, given how it was primarily the Slytherin stands. As Lee stopped, the song rose loud and clear from the sea of green and silver. Harry fought not to roll his eyes as he heard it. Typical.

 

_Weasley cannot save a thing,_  
He cannot block a single ring,  
That's why Slytherins all sing:  
Weasley is our King!

_Weasley was born in a bin_  
_He always lets the Quaffle in_  
_Weasley will make sure we win  
_ _Weasley is our King!_

 

Well. They were just going to make them eat those words, weren't they?

“ – **and Alicia passes back to Angelina!** ” Lee shouted, his voice harsh and loud as he tried to drown out the words of the song, “ **Come on now, Angelina – looks like she's got just the keeper to beat! SHE SHOOTS – SHE – aaaaah....** ”

Bletchley, the Slytherin Keeper, saved the goal with a neat little twist to get his arm there just in time to cover the hoop. He slapped the quaffle to Warrington who sped off with it, zig-zagging like a demented fox around both Alicia and Katie; the singing from the Slytherins reaching new volumes as he got closer and closer to Ron.

_WEASLEY IS OUR KING_  
_WEASLEY IS OUT KING_  
_HE ALWAYS LETS THE QUAFFLE IN  
_ _WEASLEY IS OUR KING_

He couldn't help but abandon his search for the quaffle and sit up on his broom to watch Ron, a lone figure at the far end of the pitch, hovering before the three goalhoops while the Warrington pelted towards him. Two months ago the size difference between the two would have been comical, now though, Ron matched him for shoulder width at least, so say nothing of his thighs which even at this distance Harry saw flex around his broom as the red head readied himself.

He had this. And Harry wanted to see the exact moment the Slytherins realised they were _fucked_.

“ – **and its Warrington with the quaffle, Warrington heading for goal, he's out of bludger range with just the keeper ahead – so it's the first test for new Gryffindor Keeper Weasley, brother of Beaters Fred and George, and a promising new talent on the team – come on, Ron!** ”

Warrington wound his arm back and launched it as hard as he physically could, and flicked his wrist right before he released the ball, sending the ball hurtling to the left – instead of the right that it looked like he had been aiming for.

Ron gripped his broom and swung his whole body off the wood, _kicking_ the ball away from the goal his arms were too short to reach, the sound of it reaching even Harry's ears as the ball soared straight back to the Slytherin half of the pitch where Angelina shot up to catch it.

God, the look on Warrington's face was _sweet_.

Harry flashed his friend a thumbs up and turned his attention back to hunting for the snitch, noting with no small degree of satisfaction that Malfoy looked like someone had just force fed him a horned slug.

It was at that point he heard Dean's voice joining in the 'Weasley is our King' chant – an avid football player it was of no surprise to Harry that the black boy had taken those lyrics, rewritten them, and was now belting out a MUCH improved rendition of the song to the tune of the entire Gryffindor stand and over half of the Hufflepuffs joining in.

Things did not improve for the Slytherins over the course of the match.

Crabbe and Goyle managed to nail Alicia with a bludger to the head, necessitating her taking a break from play while Madam Pomfrey made sure she didn't have a concussion. They tried to nail Ron with the bludger more and more as the match progressed and the score in favour of Gryffindor kept going up, while the red head prevented the Slytherin chasers from getting anything in his goals. Harry would have said it was a little unfair given all the physical training that he and Ron had been going through, but the Slytherins started this fight by trying to destroy their newest player with sustained and pointed psychological abuse. So he said fuck 'em.

There.

He saw it at last, a streak of gold, fluttering several feet of the ground at the Slytherin end of the pitch.

He dropped.

In a matter of seconds Mafloy was streaking after him on his left, a blur of green and silver lying flat on his broom. But... Harry slid, wrapped one leg around his broom and tucked down tight, chin resting on the wood, and tucked his elbows in.

His breath stalled as everything faded away, and all that he saw was the golden snitch.

It skirted the foot of one of the goalhoops and shot off towards the other side of the stands, it gave Malfoy the advantage, but Harry twisted one foot and rolled _upside down_ to negate it, flying _under_ the blond and clawing the snitch out of the air when he looked down in shock.

Harry swerved away, twisting upright, snitch held aloft as the stands screamed.

WHAM

A bludger hit him squarely in the small of the back and he flew forwards off his broom.

His body twisted automatically, and he landed in a knee-jarring crouch on the frozen ground, coughing on his own breath before he inhaled deeply and stood back up. He heard Madam Hooch's whistle and an uproar in the stands, cat-calls, angry yelling, jeering. He turned to glare up at Crabbe who was being screamed at by Madam Hooch as she flew towards him.

“Are you alright?!” Angelina yelled, jumping off her broom and landing in a run as she rushed up to him.

“Winded. My knees hurt. Otherwise, good,” he told her easily. Nothing some bruise balm and a trip to the baths in the Room wouldn't resolve.

Malfoy landed with a thud not too far away, white faced and furious, glaring at him with such an ugly look that no matter how pretty a face he might be growing up to have it was never going to be an attractive one. Shame. He dismissed the blond, not even bothering to listen to whatever was coming out of his mouth even as he made a note that the song was his doing. He shouldn't be surprised, despite the deplorable ways he decided to show it, the blond was actually quite intelligent. He grinned as the rest of the team landed around him one by one, yelling and punching the air in triumph, the twins throwing themselves all over their baby brother, ruffling his hair and dragging him into headlocks.

“We wanted to add another couple of verses!” Malfoy called as Katie and Alicia hugged Harry, which was very nice even if they were wearing body armour, Katie's hair smelt strongly of blackberries he noticed as she jumped up and down with her arms around him laughing. “But we couldn't find rhymes for fat and ugly – we wanted to sing about his mother, see – ”

Angelina threw him the look that comment deserved, “Talk about sour grapes,” she said in disgust.

Harry snorted, nodding to her even as he turned to accept the hug Ron threw around his shoulders, laughing and cheekily turning the red head's helmet into a lovely silver crown that had the rest of the team cracking up, and Malfoy looking near apoplectic with rage as he was ignored.

“ – we couldn't fit in _useless loser_ either – for his father!”

Fred and George looked over, realising now for the first time, what Malfoy was talking about.

“Leave it!” Angelina said at once, taking Fred by the arm. “Leave it, Fred, let him yell. He's just sore he lost, the jumped up little – ”

“ – but you like the Weasleys, don't you, Potter?” the blond spat, sneering. “Spend holidays there and everything, don't you? Can't see how you stand the stink, but I suppose when you're been dragged up by muggles, even the Weasleys' hovel smells okay – ”

Harry grabbed the back of George's kit and physically dragged him back, kicking a foot out from under him. The red head dropped with a yelp of surprise, meanwhile it was taking the combined efforts of the three girls to stop Fred – at least until Ron grabbed him by the back of the neck and dropped him the same way that Harry had.

“Yes. I do like the Weasleys,” Harry told him lightly. “I would like them whether they lived in a mansion, a castle, or the home they built with their own two hands,” he stated blandly, keeping a hand on George's shoulder to keep him down. “But I don't expect you to understand that when the only people who associate with you do so for your family's connections. I pity you.”

Malfoy looked like he could have spat glass, “I suppose you remember what _your_ mother's house stank like, Potter, and Weasleys' pigsty reminds you of it – ”

Whatever reaction he expected, it probably wasn't the laugh Harry barked out.

“Word of advice, Malfoy: _grow up_ ,” he told the blond with all the forced cheer he didn't feel even as he forced his fingers to unclench from George's shoulder. He turned on heel and walked away back to the changing rooms before he lost his temper and jumped him, feeling Ron nudge his shoulder as he walked. Of everyone involved in that altercation, Ron was probably the only one who realised just how _hard_ it was for Harry to walk away after that last dig. They got down to the changing rooms and Harry finally came to a stop as the door closed behind them, he sighed and slumped, leaning against his friend's side when he felt him shift a bit closer. “Damn him for knowing my sore spots,” he complained tiredly.

“He's a bastard like that,” the red head agreed, rubbing a hand up Harry's arm. “You alright?” he asked.

Harry snorted, “I'm not the one who had a song dedicated to calling me a shit player. How are _you_?” he asked in concern, straightening up to face him.

Ron shrugged, “It bothered me, yeah. If we hadn't gone through all those memories, pretty sure it would have screwed me over. But I can see it for what it is now. Stupid kids being hurtful and mean for no other reason than they can. It doesn't mean anything to me. Not when the people who really matter know different,” he stated with a grin, nudging Harry with his elbow.

“Damn straight,” the smaller Gryffindor agreed with a grin, “That first block was amazing by the way. I'm really proud of you. You've come a long way.”

Ron went pink, grinning in pleasure as he ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Malfoy looked like someone had just forcefed a flobberworm to him when you pulled that off, it was great,” he exclaimed with a laugh.

“Really?” Ron asked, sounding curious and happy in equal measure.

Harry nodded as he began to pull his armour off, happily telling his friend how well he'd played, how everyone reacted to each of his blocked, grinning whenever he saw how red and bashful he had gone while struggling out of his own kit, sneaking looks at Harry every now and again, eager for more praise. Praise he was whole-heartedly happy to give. Ron's self-confidence had always been wobbly, he had gotten steadier since seeing the memories, having eight life-times of life experiences crammed into one's head could do an awful lot for maturing your perspective. But it didn't change the fact that affirmation would always be something he needed, and that what the Slytherins did wasn't hurtful. So Harry told him how amazing he was. Constructive criticism could wait for their next training session. For now, let him bask in victory.

And then the rest of the team showed up, sans George, looking shellshocked and furious.

 

* * *

 

“Banned,” Angelina echoed in a hollow voice later that evening in the Gryffindor Common room. “ _Banned_. No beaters, no seeker, no keeper.... what are we going to do?” she asked faintly as she sat limply on the couch in front of the fire.

George looked wretched as he stared down at his feet having delivered the worst news in Gryffindor quidditch history.

“Why are Harry, Ron, and Fred banned?” Hermione flared aggressively, “They didn't even fight! Ron and Harry _left!_ They _walked away!_ ”

“They used violence to stop me and Fred that first time,” George told her dully, “and Fred had to be restrained. She said it.... that we were too violent to be trusted playing such a sport.”

Harry folded his arms, “She's not touching my broom,” he stated flatly, making everyone look at him.

“That's what you're worried about?” Alicia asked, disbelieving.

He looked at her, and arched an eyebrow, “I wouldn't put it past her to steal it at the end of the year, or have it destroyed. I'm not letting her have my Firebolt. It was a gift.”

Hermione made an ugly noise in the back of her throat, “If only we could go – ” she made an aggressive gesture that made no sense to anyone except Harry and Ron who recognised the activation of a hidden blade and the resulting stab that followed.

“No, Hermione. I mean, she's bad, but she's not _that_ bad,” Harry told her with a roll of his eyes. Banning them from Quidditch was hardly deserving of death.

The Common room was almost silent, everywhere were people with angry and downtrodden faces, the team themselves were slumped around the fire, looking miserable, but none more so than George who looked like he wanted to throw himself _into_ the fire.

“It's just so unfair,” Alicia whispered, “I mean, what about Crabbe and that bludger he hit after the whistle had been blown? Has she banned _him?_ ”

“No,” Ginny said miserably, sat on Harry's other side, Hermione next to Ron – and partially restrained by his hand on her knee. “He just got lines. I heard Montague laughing about it at dinner.”

Harry looked out the window, it was snowing and above his head the snitch he caught earlier was now flitting around the room, people watching its progress as though hypnotised, and occasionally if it got close enough, Crookshanks tried his paw at catching it, leaping from chair to chair. He tried – but he just... _couldn't_. Yes, Quidditch was fun, but he just... didn't feel disconsolate about his ban. Indignant and annoyed, yes. But, not miserable. It was hardly the end of the world – ah, but then, he had a future planned, and he was working towards it. Perhaps that was why it didn't bother him so much. Quidditch was something he did for fun, because it helped his house, because it made his housemates happy, because it made _him_ happy. There would be other ways to earn housepoints, the housecup wasn't everything in life, neither was the quidditch cup, and there were other things he could do that made him happy – such as his training in the Room. He enjoyed running the poles, and the rafters.

“I'm going to bed,” Angelina announced, slowly getting to her feet. “Maybe this will all turn out to have been a bad dream. Maybe Ill wake up tomorrow and find we haven't played yet.”

She was soon followed by Alicia and Katie. Fred and George sloped off some time later, glowering at everyone they passed who so much as looked at them. Eventually everyone else in Gryffindor drifted off themselves, leaving just Harry, Ron, and Hermione behind, staring into the fire.

“Is it weird...” Harry began softly, “...that I'm not upset? Not that much anyway.”

Ron stared at him as if he were mad while Hermione scowled and sat back before.... she frowned, thinking about it.

“Noo.... No. You... All of us, we've got a different perspective now. It.... No, it isn't weird that you don't value Quidditch the way you did before,” she decided, rubbing her chin.

He nodded slowly, staring at the fireplace before sighing and getting to his feet, “I'm going to get my broom and hide it in the room,” he announced, “Along with the cloak and other stuff so she can't steal them.”

“Oh! Good idea! She'd turn Gryffindor tower on its head looking for it just to spite you!” Hermione exclaimed, jumping to her feet, “There's some books I should probably hide too, just in case.”

She quickly rushed upstairs, and Ron sighed.

“At least I can retire from my quidditch career an undefeated champion,” he mused, necking the last of his butterbeer and getting to his feet.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost didn't get this out. Enjoy it folks. I need to crash. I have early shift tomorrow, gimme some good comments to read while I'm stuck in the friday breakfast scrum of scrambled egg and coffee hell.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I wanna stand up,   
> a hundred feet tall   
> ‘Cause fear will never lead the way   
> I’m ready to run,   
> a hundred miles strong   
> I will never be the same   
> Waking the lions in me   
> I’m waking the lions in me”
> 
> –Pop Evil (Waking Lions)

“Are we sure she isn't a Death Eater?” Ron demanded darkly as the three finished hiding their various items in the Room, transfiguring sweet wrappers into boxes where they stored said things under their beds.

“Not every evil person is related to the enemy,” Hermione reluctantly admitted.

“She's a Ministry stooge, not a Death Eater, despite sharing all of their beliefs,” Harry corrected with a huff as he flopped down face first into the bed they had been sharing only a few hours ago, the one that had become 'theirs' over the last few weeks. And today had started so well.

Hermione dropped down beside him and huddled up close, a warm distracting weight against him. “Like those American politicians who aren't neo-nazis but share pretty much all the same ideals. So practically _are_ , just aren't part of anything organised because it's illegal and if they get caught they'll lose power and support.”

Ron scoffed, and Harry felt the bed dip on his other side a moment before he was squashed under him, Hermione grunting in complaint beside him. They all squirmed and shoved at one another until they found a comfortable position all tangled up against, under, and over one another, and then just stayed like that, breathing deep and basking in the contact. It was nice, and it was a shame they hadn't done this before now. They spent so long being worried about what other people might think or say about them that they had denied themselves so much in the way of nice things, cuddles, food, books, music, even just having a ridiculous number of fuzzy pillows or nice clothes. It was a shame really....

Harry must have drifted off to sleep because the next time he opened his eyes their positions were different and he could feel Hermione's fingers dragging lightly through his hair, gently stroking, as she and Ron talked above his head in low tones.

“ –gressing. But not as fast as I would like. It would give us more time,” Hermione was saying.

“It'd send one hell of a message as well. If we got the whole DA involved, hell, I can't think of anyone in Gryffindor who wouldn't go for it, the Ravenclaws would do it simply because her teaching is rubbish. If we worded it right to the right people,” Ron mused. Oh. It was _his_ lap that he was curled up in. He gave lazy thought to moving but he was comfortable, Hermione's hands were nice in his hair, and he didn't want to. Besides, it was probably a little late to panic now after having been in the red head's lap for what had to be at least an hour or so, who knew.

“We _do_ have Rita on the hook,” Hermione admitted thoughtfully.

Harry mumbled, shuddering as one of them stroked a hand down the curve of his spine from the back of his neck to the small of his back. He heard laughter and squirmed unhappily as he woke up properly, squinting up at them with an affronted scowl, feeling Hermione's hand slide down from his hair to stroke the back of his neck.

“Wakey wakey, Sleeping beauty,” she teased, fingernails scraping _oh-so lightly_ up the back of his neck, making him shiver and his stomach clench.

Ron made a strangled noise, going tense, and grabbed her hand, “I _think_ he's awake!” the red head told her uncomfortably.

Oh no.

Harry flushed in sheer mortification, “Kill me now,” he muttered in horror, practically trying to shove himself _away_ from his friend. It took all of three seconds for Hermione to realise what the problem was, her fingers flexing distractingly against the back of his neck as she hummed thoughtfully.

“Hermione,” Ron warned, voice low and doing terrible things to Harry's mind and body.

“I think I would like to jump in the lake now, please,” Harry whimpered, covering his face with his hands. “With weights on each limb, never to see daylight again.”

Ron's arm around his back tightened and Harry hissed, feeling his fingers digging into his hip, making his stomach and chest do weird summersaults as the red head snarled: “Don't you dare!”

He squirmed, wilting at the tone of voice. “Kidding. I was just kidding. At least about the weights I would still veery much like to jump into cold water now please, very much so,” he babbled, voice strained because he was as hard as a fucking rock, and _neither of them had let him go_ , both of them had their nails dug into his neck and hip which he had _no idea_ could make him feel restless and light headed and kind of queasy with that same fluttery excitement he usually only felt on the lead up to a Quidditch Match.

There was a pause, and then suddenly both sets of hands vanished as if burnt. “Sorry!” Ron squeaked –

Harry was already up and scooting to the foot of the bed, red faced with mortification, keeping his legs up and his feet tucked in, using one hand to keep his balance while the other made sure neither of them could see the source of his embarrassment.

“It's – fine! It's my fault – I'm sorry, I made it weird and – ” he muttered uncomfortably. “I'm just – I'm gunna – yea.” He gestured to the door and then practically fled the room, cupping himself and moving quickly in a kind of awkward waddle.

His cheeks burned as he heard Hermione giggling.

He didn't bother with the lake in the end, tempting as it was. He went to the baths instead to dunk himself in the icy cold running water. It made his headache worse, all of his hair on his scalp feeling like it was trying to pull itself out and crawl off his skull as he submerged himself entirely under water. But it resolved his original problem quite nicely.

The last thing he wanted to see when he surfaced, blue and shivering, were the twins looming over him, fully dressed, looking half-desperate and half-gleeful. Clearly looking for a distraction of some kind, no matter what.

He sank down deeper in the water. “C-c-can I hel-elp you?” he chattered, scowling at them.

“Dunking himself in ice cold water,” George commented with false tones if disapproval instead of answering.

“After fleeing our little brother's _bed_ ,” Fred added lightly, making Harry's chill bitten ears sting as he tried to blush.

“Anyone might get ideas,” George agreed as he turned back to Harry with a toothy shark's grin that didn't quite manage to hide how brittle he looked.

Harry scowled at them, teeth chattering, his ribs _hurting_ from the cold. “Wh-what-t d-doyou w-want?” he gasped.

“Want? We don't want anything. What about you, what do _you_ want?” Fred asked with faux curiosity.

“S-somm-mme bl-blood-dy p-priva-cy w-would be nic-ce,” he grumbled as best he could, voice hitching.

Fred peered at him in the water, seemingly noticing how cold he was for the first time if the brief flash of surprise and guilt that twisted his eyebrows was any indication. “Sure, we'll wait outside. No running away now,” he teased 'playfully' with a wink.

“J-joy,” Harry stuttered sourly as the two sauntered out back the way they came, giving him the privacy he wanted to get out and shiver his way to warmer areas. The temperature of the warm room with the multiple baths was painful, he didn't even bother trying to get into the water, it would _hurt_ to try. He grabbed one of the linen towels and dried off before heading back to the changing rooms where he got out his assassin robes. He got the feeling he was going to have to help the twins work off some frustration today, it would be easier if he just changed now rather than have to come back here later.

They were waiting for him outside, but so were Ron and Hermione. The young woman squaring up to the twins ready for a fight while Ron hung back looking pink and uncertain. The twins meanwhile seemed torn between amusement and wariness. With good reason. They might have had two years on her, but Hermione wasn't call the brightest witch of her age for nothing, on top of that, the twins were at the very least peripherally aware of the antics that their three younger housemates got up to, which meant they were at least somewhat aware of what they were tangling with. Her ire was not one to be garnered lightly, and they _should_ be wary of it.

Ron perked up when he saw him and darted forward, catching his hand and pulling him away from the door and the twins. “There you are, Harry! C'mon, we gotta talk!” he exclaimed loudly, pointedly, dragging him.

“Ah – wait – Ron! Hang on a second!” Harry spluttered, digging his feet in and leaning back. “WAIT!” he stopped, and Harry sighed in relief. “I was going to show Fred and George the poles, start them on their training,” he explained. He might have intended on doing it _later_ , but given what he had just walked in on, working their frustrations off was probably needed sooner rather than later. “Do – can we talk in a bit? It shouldn't take too long to show them the poles,” he suggested hopefully, feeling Ron's hand flex on his wrist, burning hot on his cold skin, easily wrapping around it completely (which should not have made his stomach flip over the way it did when he noticed).

Hermione exchanged a look with the red head before Ron let him go, with very obvious reluctance. “Alright, don't – don't take too long,” he asked almost plaintively, before taking a step back and shuffling away down the corridor.

The girl pursed her lips before darting forward and kissing his cheek, too fast for him to have second thoughts this time, too fast for him to pull away. “ _Please_ talk to us, Harry. Don't – don't avoid us, not about this,” she begged quietly before following after their friend, leaving him feeling like utter shit as he slumped, heart a heavy weight in his chest.

There was a prolonged silence.

“You are _screwed_ ,” George summed up after a long while, sounding torn between horrified and admiring.

“Yeah,” Fred huffed a disbelieving laugh, “You are in so much more trouble than I thought you were.”

Harry scowled, “Yes, thank you, guys,” he snipped before beginning to walk away, stalking irritably down the corridor. “You wanted to talk? Well, do it while we walk,” he bit out angrily, leading them down the corridor and to the right into the lake.

“Well...” Fred began, casting a glance at his twin before taking the lead on the conversation. “We've seen Ronny giving you the eye recently, and you didn't seem to object over much. Hell, we saw you do the same a few times. Next thing we know, you're tearing out of the dorms with a bit of a problem downstairs and jumping in cold water.”

“Ickle Ronnikins didn't look too happy either,” George chimed in dully as they circled the lake. “So as his older brothers we came to address the wrongs committed against our kin.”

“Only to find things a great deal more complicated than we thought,” Fred finished as they reached the poles. “We thought it was just you two, but the lovely Miss Granger complicates things, doesn't she?”

Harry sighed, “Ron and Hermione have fancied each other since third year. I'm not going to mess it up for them,” he explained dully before turning to face them and gesturing to the poles. “Okay, me, Ron, and Hermione have all done this so no matter how frustrating it is, I can promise you it _is_ possible. The objective is to get from one side of the lake to the other without hitting the water or using magic. It's hard, and you'll probably hurt yourself. So, do as I do for now. We'll stretch before getting started,” he explained before demonstrating a couple of the basic stretches he learned in junior school in PE.

Fred grunted as he followed suit, “You know, there _are_ happy relationships with three or more people in them, right?” he asked, huffing a little as he bent over in a way he wasn't used to.

“I'm not cheating!” he refused sharply, and probably a little loudly by how his voice echoed around them.

“Not cheating,” George corrected. “Mum told us that – Uncle Gideon had two girlfriends back when he was alive. They still send mum Christmas cards every year. Jennifer and Lauren loved each other just as much as they loved Uncle Gideon, and he loved them just as much as the other. Ugh, you do this every time?” he demanded breathlessly in dismay as Harry took them through more stretches. He ignored the question and thought about what George had just told him.

Three people in a relationship? He had never heard of it in any kind of positive context before, and the idea of it made him uncomfortable in a way he didn't quite understand. It... felt like it would have been cheating. Lying. Except, it wasn't, was it? There was no lying because everyone knew about everyone else being with each other, and if they knew and were all equally together, then – it wasn't cheating. Couldn't be cheating because then _all_ of them were cheating on each other, _with_ each other? Ow, his brain hurt. Logically it just... wasn't cheating, even though everything inside said it was. He... he was a selfish guy. He didn't think he could be happy if his partner was with someone else as well. He would forever be scared and anxious of losing them, of not measuring up to their other partner, of not being good enough, not making them happy, of... of being _left behind_. Not to mention he would be constantly worried about potentially ignoring the other person, making them feel ignored, or used, or just not as loved as his other partner.

He had spent years outside looking in, doing everything he could think of to get the Dursleys to love him like Dudley, to love him like an actual member of their family, before he eventually gave up and buried his heart along with all his hopes of acceptance.

No one deserved to feel like that, ever.

And the thought of even inadvertently, accidentally, making _either_ of Ron or Hermione feel that made him sick and miserable.

“They'll be happier together without me getting underfoot and messing things up for them,” he finally decided. He loved them too much to risk what they already had. If he lost them, he didn't know _what_ he would do. Fall apart like Edward Kenway had done more than likely. He didn't know. He didn't want to find out either.

“Don't you think they should have a say in that?” Fred asked almost gently.

Harry didn't answer. Instead he turned and leapt onto the first of the poles, bouncing off the first and bounding to the next – he ran five of them before stopping and spinning on his tiptoe to face them.

“Running, jumping, swinging, you can do anything you like to reach the otherside of the lake; but aside from healing injuries, drying off, or fixing something you break, you can't use magic,” he explained again.

“Shouldn't be too hard,” Fred decided, eyeing him. Harry smirked, oh no, it was hard. He just made it _look_ easy.

And predictably, he fell at the second pole.

“Good luck!” Harry called cheerfully to the pair before turning and bounding across the remaining poles and landing lightly on the otherside.

Time.... time to face the music, he realised slowly as he made his way around the lake and back into the main hall. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the inevitable knock back. They would be kind, of course they would be, they loved him, but they would put down firm boundaries and tell him in no uncertain terms that his interest was unwelcome and off-putting. And he agreed, it was just his hormones sitting up and noticing two very pretty people whom he felt very safe with. He doubted he would have had anything even approaching a similar reaction if it had been Malfoy, or Fred, or Angelina, or even _Cho_ he had woken up next to.

Hermione was waiting for him at the dormitories, she lit up when she saw him approaching, and lead him in to where Ron was sat in the middle of the room amidst the small ocean of pillows that made a kind of social sitting area for everyone.

“You came,” she gushed happily, smiling.

He flushed unhappily, standing awkwardly in front of the cushions, not daring to sit himself down. He needed to be able to leave quickly, just in case. “I said I would,” he muttered before taking a deep breath. “Look, I know what you're going to say,” he began quickly. If he just – ripped the plaster off quickly, maybe it would hurt less. “I'm sorry about what happened, I made it weird, and I can't say enough how sorry I am I made you uncomfortable. It won't happen again. You're my best friends and I want you to be happy and – no, Hermione, let me – let me finish!” he snapped, batting her hands away when she tried to touch his face, to cover his mouth.

“No!” she said loudly, “Because you're just going to say you'll go away! And we don't _want_ that!”

Ron cleared his throat slightly, drawing his attention. “We've been talking,” he admitted, gesturing to himself and Hermione, “about all three of us. I like Hermione,” he said with a small bashful smile of delight at her and Harry felt his stomach clench unhappily even as he smiled, pleased that they really _had_ taken that step forward. “I like her a lot. But... I like you too.”

“Ron – ” Harry said, dismayed.

“I like you _a lot_ , Harry. I – didn't realise it until we saw the memories. Didn't really consider it a possibility, what with both of us being guys. Kinda dumb considering Charlie, but...” he shrugged a little sheepishly.

Hermione squeezed his hands, “I like you too,” she admitted. “But you never really _looked_ at me, so I brushed it off, put it aside because you were one of my first ever friends and I didn't want to mess things up between us. But... then you did – you and Ron both, and I didn't know what to do,” she explained, sounding frazzled.

“So we talked,” Ron continued, “I noticed how she was looking at you, and –” he grinned, pleased and amused and sly all at once, making Harry's insides squirm, “– you're not exactly subtle, Harry. So we talked, and – you know mum? One of her older brothers, Gideon, he had two girlfriends. They were together before they brought him in and – they were all together with each other! No one was sneaking around behind their backs!” he rushed to reassure, hands up placatingly. “I thought, maybe, _we_ could... try? I mean, I like you both, and I don't think – I mean – I doubt it would work with anyone – I would never _suggest_ it if it were anyone else, but...” he trailed off hopefully, hunching down amidst the pillows and fiddling with the embroidery on the one in his lap shyly.

Harry swallowed, looking from the red head to the brunette who smiled encouragingly at him. “If it's us, I think it could work. I know it would work,” she said determinedly.

This – this wasn't how he thought this conversation was going to go at all.

“Please, Harry. We want to be with you, together...” Ron said quietly, barely a whisper.

He floundered, opening and closing his mouth soundlessly as he looked everywhere but at them, unable to even _think_ , feeling like his heart was about to launch its way out of his chest. They waited patiently, not looking at him, and giving him the chance to freak out, calm down, and actually give it some thought. He really didn't deserve them, he thought fondly, even as his stomach clenched fearfully. He didn't expect this, he didn't know how to _handle_ this!

He looked up at them.

He never knew how to handle _anything_ that had been thrown at him, but with them, it had never mattered. He had done it anyway, with their help, and they had all come out on the otherside.

He was better.... when he was with them.

“...Okay. I – I'll try. I don't know how to... _be_ , but.... I'll try,” he choked out, and squawked as Hermione suddenly threw herself at him, hugging him tightly.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't like Lavender's romance novels, or even the TV dramas that Aunt Petunia glued herself to for an hour and a half every night at seven. They didn't rush into each others arms, kissing desperately, they didn't immediately confess their deep and unabating love. Hermione did hug him, yes. And it was nice, but he probably didn't perform all that well, stiff and uncertain now that the ground they stood on was different.

They.... sat. Awkward and quiet on the pillows, unsure of how to talk to each other now.

“Um,” Hermione began, “Well, uh, we – we had an idea earlier, while you were sleeping,” she blurted, “We were thinking of making a statement about what happened with Umbridge. Not killing her!” she added quickly seeing the look of alarm on Harry's face. “We thought it might be an idea to get everyone to boycott her classes and self-study. No one can learn from her _anyway_ , so it would probably be better for them in the end if they did! I know most of Gryffindor would go for it, I think Ravenclaw might be planning one _anyway_ ,” she babbled in both enthusiasm and nervousness.

Harry nodded slowly, “It's a good idea. But it's going to bring a lot of trouble with it. Potentially even affecting their parents' livelihoods. I heard Cho talking about it with her friend,” he pointed out thoughtfully. He dragged a pillow into his lap, “I'm worried that if we make too much in the way of trouble, it might cost Mister Weasley his job. She's vindictive enough to do it.”

“Actually, Dad can get a job almost anywhere else,” Ron corrected from his pillow, “He just likes the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office because he gets to play with all sorts of muggle toys. It might take a bit, but just about any repair and enchantment shop would hire him in a heartbeat. He's really good at it. He made the family clock, y'know?” he bragged proudly.

Harry nodded slowly, fiddling with one of the pillows. “If you're sure?”

Ron nodded firmly, “Yeah. We'll be fine.”

“Then.... We draw her attention to us. If she focuses on us, she'll leave the rest of the students alone. The more we get on-board with the plan, then the less likely she is to focus on all of them if we make ourselves the ringleaders,” the black haired Gryffindor decided, drawing his knees up to his chest. “But it means we're going to have to withdraw from pretty much all of Hogwarts, including lessons,” he added, looking apologetically at Hermione.

She waved it off, “I learn faster through self-study,” she dismissed, “And it means I can help you two properly. We can ask Neville or Pavarti to pick up and hand in any homework from other classes,” she suggested before smirking at them, “It would also give us a lot more time to train.”

Harry nodded, “The twins are probably gunna have to join us, Ginny too, to stop her from doing anything to them,” he realised with sudden concern.

“An actual good reason to skip classes, they'll love it,” Ron snorted before leaning forward, “So, we're doing this? We're going to lead a school-wide protest against her by getting people to boycott her lessons?” he asked eagerly.

Harry looked between them, at Hermione's determined face, at Ron's eager one, and then he nodded. “Yeah. And we're going to tell her exactly why. Her _and_ every newspaper we can get to print it.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearly didn't get this out tonight. Game night just about killed me, and as soon as I hit the confession point of the chapter I sorta just sat there going "HOW DO I ROMANCE" and wondering if it was too late to make this a combat encounter lol
> 
> 1/ Harry's reaction to poly relationships: I can honestly say I have no friends and no experience with this, so I am so sorry if anything comes across as offensive, but the idea behind his current temperament is that he is a fifteen year old in the nineties - polyamory is a hitherto unheard of concept to him. Hence why Gideon Prewett suddenly had one for Ron to know and understand the concept and present it to them


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If we want to create a secure world, we have to send a message across the world that all children are our children.” –Kailash Satyarthi

Time in the room was hard to keep track of, by the time any of them thought to cast a _tempus_ it was well into the afternoon, and they had gotten halfway through planning their boycott of Delores Umbridge's farce of a Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. They had been spit-balling ideas on how to word their letters to the various newspapers so that they would be published in the right light, as well as how best to present what they were doing to the toad so that there was no way she could twist their actions to suit her own ends.

At the moment, the best they had was making it as public as possible by having Harry present her with a Howler announcing their decision, and then having as many people as possible stand up with him and _leave_ the Great Hall in a show of solidarity. _Hopefully_ there would be too many faces, too many students, for her to target specific individuals, and it would also hammer down how abysmal and _hated_ she was amidst the students. Whether she understood that they were the adults of tomorrow, the _voters_ of tomorrow, remained to be seen – but either way, as soon as Fudge and the Ministry heard of what was going on, hopefully she would be pulled out tootsweet.

If there was one thing they had learned from Arno Dorian's memories, it was that when the people moved and spoke as one, it _terrified_ the men in charge. And if it came to a revolt the way it had during the French Revolution, then they would be ready when the time came.

They were wondering how to get their letters out past the mail-screening when Hermione checked the time and huffed. “It's almost dinnertime. We should actually make an appearance. I don't think there's any Quidditch training tonight, so maybe we could call the DA and tell them our plans, get them on board, and pass word back to their houses,” she suggested, stretching lazily, _distractingly_ , across her pillows.

“We should see if they have any ideas about the letters and howler too,” Ron offered as he got to his feet.

Harry rummaged in his pocket for the coin, “Meeting at seven?” he suggested as he took his wand out. “It'll give everyone time to disperse discreetly through the corridors after lunch and get here without Umbridge being suspicious.”

“Good idea,” Ron agreed as he began to tug his assassin robes off, making Harry pause and eye his stomach only to shake himself and quickly turn back to the coin, ears burning.

Hermione huffed as she crawled out of her pillowfort, “Sneaking in here would be so much easier if we had more than one map. We wouldn't have to worry so much about security,” she complained as she got up and shuffled behind one of the privacy screens to change herself.

“Well, why don't we ask Sirius how it was made?” Ron suggested as he shrugged into a t-shirt and sweater, “We're going back to Grimmauld Place over the holidays so it makes sense. We can work on replicating the map for the others.”

Harry was about to snort and comment about how terrifying the twins would be with their own copy, only to remember it was the _twins_ who gave him theirs. “Not a bad idea,” he eventually agreed, “Maybe there's even other discreet ways of passing mail or what-not.”

“Hmm,” Hermione hummed from behind her screen, “There's vanishing cabinets. But they're pretty big, and really obvious if you know what you're looking for.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked curiously.

“Mm. They're triangularly shaped, and have an opening on the bottom, the doors open towards the point which logically you would have thought to be the back. In all honesty, it looks like a weird gothic outhouse,” she explained sounding disgusted even as Harry stiffened.

“Hermione.... There's one of them at Hogwarts,” he said faintly, causing her head to pop out from behind the screen, and Ron to stare at him from where he was pulling his uniform robe over his jumper.

“What – really?!” she squawked.

He nodded, “Remember Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party?” they both grimaced in remembrance, yep, they remembered, “It was because he talked Peeves into dropping one of those cabinets on one of the roofs to distract him that I agreed to go. He got me out of detention by doing that,” he explained, his voice faint and disbelieving. “There's... one in Knockturn Alley too. Remember when I got lost in the Floo?” he asked Ron, who nodded in faint disbelief, “There was one in that weird Dark Artefact shop I came out in.”

“Can you connect two different vanishing cabinets together?” Hermione asked curiously, looking at the red head.

“Dunno. I don't think so. But, Dad might know? If it's an enchantment he might know a way around, or just how to strip it out and rebuild it?” he offered almost helplessly.

Harry chewed his lower lip, “The cabinet that Peeves dropped was broken, it's on the first floor right now. Do you think we could fix it, see where it's twin is? It might be faster than stripping the enchantments and rebuilding them.”

“It's an idea. It'll be hard sneaking it up here though,” Ron admitted rubbing his chin, because there was no argument about where they were going to hide it – it was obviously going to be here in the Room where they could work on it when they weren't training or doing classwork. He cast a nervous look at Hermione before looking back at Harry, “If we paid him, do you think Dobby would be willing to help?” he asked, cringing a little away from her direction as if he could feel the heat from the glare she threw him.

Except she didn't, she _beamed_. Probably because he suggested paying the elf for his efforts.

“We can ask,” Harry said as he finished fiddling with his coin and got to his feet, summoning his normal clothes from his bed and wriggling his way out of his assassin robes, stretching hard until the knot at the small of his back finally stretched itself out with a soft shift that had him sighing in relief.

Both Ron and Hermione were staring at him with very intense expressions when he looked at them.

He quickly yanked his t-shirt on, pink and flustered as he skittered back a step, feeling weirdly defensive and off-balance, and hating how they immediately looked upset and guilty when they turned away, blushing themselves. He... This was probably a mistake. He just – things were – they'd agreed to be together, that meant they were b-boyfriends and girlfriend, right? Even though they hadn't put it into words. It was – _scary_. He realised. He was scared. As much as he trusted them, as much as he liked them, he felt vulnerable and that had _never been a good thing ever_. It felt like he had.... he had no point of reference but, he felt almost... naked. That kind of vulnerable. Embarrassed and open and squishy. And then they went and looked at him like _that_ and he felt _hunted_.

So he flinched, and they sagged, and he _hated this_. Hated making them feel like that because he was such a baby.

He had agreed to _try_.

It was... just going to have to take a bit more effort than he would have thought. And none of that was their fault.

He took a breath and walked to the closest of them, Ron, and took his hand, “Shall we go get the twins?” he asked briskly, trying to ignore how his hand was probably clammy and shaking a little as he looked back to where Hermione was tying her hair back into a simple ponytail. He felt Ron grip his hand a little tighter, and rub a thumb across the back of his knuckles.

The trio made their way to the lake, Harry stubbornly keeping hold of Ron's hand even though he could feel all the hair on his arms standing straight with the need to put some distance between them, just until.... until he got his feet back under him, until he got his _balance_ back. But he knew if he did that, he would _keep_ that distance, because that would be his new balance. He just had to get used to this. He trusted them. He _trusted them_. He just had to keep reminding himself of that. Keep telling himself he was being stupid and worried over nothing.

The twins were soaking wet, shivering, and furious by the time they showed up, glaring death at Harry.

Ron burst out laughing at the sight of them, having to actually turn around and drop his head onto Harry's shoulder and hold him tightly to stop himself from falling over. Harry fought not to tense, but he failed as Hermione braced a hand against his back, giggling helplessly herself at the look on their faces.

Fred and George did not look particularly charitable, and he was filled with the strangest urge to shake Ron and Hermione off and get in front of them.

“If I hadn't seen you do it, I would be cursing your ears into cacti right now,” George told him in ugly tones.

Between the three of them, they got the twins cleaned up, dried out, warmed up, and lead them down to dinner, now fully briefed on their plan to boycott Umbridge's lessons with the rest of the DA. They suggested charming Umbridge to go blind after the howler was finished so she _couldn't_ see who stood up and left, but they veto'ed that on the grounds that she might try to actually have Harry arrested for assault of a Ministry Official.

The Slytherins laughed uproariously as they walked into the Great Hall, and while George sank down into himself and Fred wrapped an arm around his twin, Harry, Ron, and Hermione straightened their backs and looked down their noses at them with all the disdain they learned from Altair Ibn-La'Ahad and Claudia Auditore as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Pointedly ignoring them as they dug into their food. A lot of people in the Great Hall were staring at them, and from the corner of his eye, Harry could see Madam Umbridge watching them hungrily for a reaction to her latest decision.

He didn't give her the satisfaction.

 

* * *

 

“What's a 'boycott'?” Susan Bones asked suspiciously at the DA meeting that evening.

Because it was a non-training event, Harry had moved them all into the dormitories where everyone was sprawled out on comfortable cushions, blankets and mattresses stolen from the beds, and perched on conjured squashy armchairs and stools. A lot of the purebloods looked confused by what they were suggesting but interested none the less, despite their wariness. They knew it was about their DADA classes, and they could _guess_ that it would be something Umbridge wouldn't like, but that was all they knew. The halfbloods were a mixed bag, while the muggleborns looked excited and terrified in equal measure.

“Won't we get into trouble?” Justin Finch-Fletchley worried.

Hermione nodded, “We'll take the heat,” she assured him, lifting her chin where she was stood to Harry's left in front of them all.

“A boycott is a civil action of protest amongst muggles,” Harry explained to Susan, “it's one of the more peaceful ones. It means that we're just not going to show up to her lessons. No matter what. It's a protest of how awful her teaching is, and a visible declaration of how unhappy we are with what she's doing. Like if Madam Malkin got caught mistreating her staff, we organise to never use her services ever again and make it known that we're refusing because of how she treated them. It's highlighting a problem, bringing it to attention, and then publicly declaring that we refuse to support it or the people doing it.”

“' _One has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws_ '. Martin Luther King, a famous muggle civil rights activist said that while fighting for the rights of black americans,” Hermione explained proudly, “What that woman is doing is crippling our futures to further her own ends. It can't stand.”

“This is just the first step,” Harry agreed, watching as worried expressions grew more prominent amongst the students. “The more people we get on board with the boycott, the less likely she is to target individuals if _we_ – ” He gestured to himself, Ron, and Hermione. “ – make it obvious we're leading. She'll go for us directly. We're drafting up letters for the Prophet, the Quibbler, the School Board, anyone we can think of, about why and what we're doing so she can't somehow try to twist it on us.”

“But, what about our parents? What about _yours_? He works at the Ministry doesn't he?” Cho's friend, Marietta, exclaimed, her face twisted in anxiety as she stared at Ron.

He looked at her steadily. “He does. But he'd be disappointed in me if I didn't. He didn't fight in the First War just to have a Death Eater without a Dark Mark bully and abuse his kids. And that's what she's doing. How many of you have had to sit and write lines with that awful quill?” he demanded fiercely, tensing up, his hackles rising, broad shoulders swelling with tension and anger.

Looks were exchanged, and people shifted, tucking hands away out of sight in shame.

“The teachers can't do anything,” Harry stated flatly. “They can't protect us because if they try, they can be dismissed, and the Ministry will replace them with her toadies. Instead. We have to take responsibility for ourselves. If you're not down for taking part, be aware, if you do show up to her lessons, you might very well put yourself in her sights _anyway_. Her way of thinking is enemies and allies. If you're not against her, you're working for her. There is no neutral or in-between,” he explained flatly, a little apologetically.

Zacharias Smith looked livid, “You're just issuing ultimatums now!” he protested.

Harry shook his head, “I know it seems that way but no. You can walk out now, and we won't say a thing. You can attend her lessons and come here for supplementary help, that's fine. You won't be turned away.” He looked around at all of them steadily, “But no one is giving us the facts. No one is giving us all the information we can so we can make our own choices. That's all I'm doing. Everyone around me keeps making decisions on my behalf without bothering to ask or consult me about my own wishes. It sucks. That's why I'm telling you everything I know. So you can make the choice yourself, so that you know what lies down each path.” He wet his lips and took a breath, an idea suddenly hitting him with all the force of a rogue bludger.

“When we made this room,” he said, gesturing to himself and his friends, “we found more than a training space, more than just books on how to protect ourselves. We found a future for ourselves. Part of that future dictates taking responsibility for your actions, for the lives you touch, and the deeds you do. This is me, taking responsibility. And... it's me offering you the truth. Most of you came here looking to find out what happened to Cedric Diggory – ” Sharp inhales went around the room and both Ron and Hermione looked at him in alarm, this wasn't what they discussed. “ – and if you got a decent OWL score out of it, all the better.” Guilty looks were exchanged by a few students, and he could see Marietta Edgecomb put an arm around a wet looking Cho Chang and glare at him. He wished he could apologise but that _wasn't_ what he was here for. “You can call me crazy as much as you like, Voldemort is back. We plan to fight him with everything we've got, everything we can learn, by any means necessary. What we plan to do is bigger than Hogwarts, than Umbridge, than the DA here. And when Voldemort is dealt with, it will likely become our life's work.” He shrugged at the looks of alarm from the rest of them. “Anyone who wants to see what happened during the Third Task, come with me. I'll show you. We have a pensieve upstairs.

“And if anyone wants to throw their lot in with us and fight, well, we'll have even more to discuss afterwards.”

 

* * *

 

He had never drawn a memory out himself before. He kind of knew the theory by accident, drawing memories out of the bottles individually to organise and separate them (he had finished with organising Kassandra's memories, storing each individual memory in an apothecary shelf beside the ledger detailing what each one was. She had six shelves of space on the potions shelf he had transfigured. He was only half-way through Evie Frye), but he had never done it _himself_.

He probably took too much, he realised, once the strand was in the bowl and glowing up at them ready to be viewed. He looked up at the people in the office, almost _all_ of the DA had chased his heels up there. There were too many people to all go in at once but at the front of the line was Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecomb, and the Hufflepuffs. Still too many to go in at once, not if he was going to go in with them.

“Cho, you were his girlfriend. You first. We can take another two people. Take who you want,” he told her gently.

She shuddered, and gripped her friend's hand. “Marietta. And... and Susan Bones. Her Aunt is DMLE. She – if _she_ says it, then her Aunt might believe it more than from Dumbledore.”

He nodded, and gestured the three girls closer. “Take my hand. When we come out of there, it's going to be disorientating, it'll stop everyone from falling over,” he advised, holding a hand out to them. They joined hands around the bowl and he looked them all over. “Take a deep breath, and breathe out as you put your face into the bowl.”

“Our faces?” Marietta blurted in shock.

Harry shrugged, “You stick your head in. How else are you going to see the memory?” he asked flatly before leaning down. Cho and Susan followed suit and Marietta spluttered before practically throwing herself down after them, not wanting to be left behind.

 

“ _Expecto Patronum!”_

_A silver stag erupted from the end of Harry's wand and galloped towards the Dementor, which fell back, and tripped over the hem of its robes... Harry had never seen a Dementor stumble._

“ _Hang on!” he shouted, advancing in the wake of his silver Patronus, “you're a Boggart!_ Riddikulus! _”_

_There was a loud crack, and the shape-shifter exploded in a wisp of smoke. The silver stag faded from sight. Harry wished it could have stayed, he could have used some company... but he moved on as quickly and quietly as possible, listening hard, his wand held high once more._

“What is this?” Marietta asked weakly, staring around the wicked looking hedge walls that enclosed them.

Harry grimaced, “The Third Task. Guess I took a bit more than I thought I did,” he admitted, following after himself as they turned through the maze, and encountered a golden mist. They watched as his fourteen year old self struggled with it. Harry approached himself and huffed in annoyance at how.... skinny and doll-like he used to be. No wonder both Ron and Hermione didn't touch him much before now, even _he_ was concerned about his health and he knew he was perfectly fine.

And then they found the Blast Ended Skrewt.

Marietta screamed at the sight of it.

Then they came to the scene of Viktor Krum using torture curses on Cedric. Cho... did not take it well. None of them did until Harry quietly pointed out that that the Bulgarian Champion had been under _imperio_ the whole time.

“You are sure of that, Potter?” Susan demanded sharply.

He nodded solemnly, “The death eater responsible confessed under Veritaserum. Right before the Dementor attached to Minister Fudge Kissed him.”

The girls hissed and gasped in response to the unpleasant news, looking grey and conflicted as they continued to watch Harry's younger self hurry through the maze, to dead-end to dead-end. And then he reached the sphinx.

“A spider,” Marietta said immediately after the riddle was given. He huffed in amusement at how easy it was for her, and they watched him puzzle out the riddle, eventually getting it right before moving on. Marietta had an odd look on her face, “You... wouldn't have made a bad Ravenclaw, Potter,” she finally said looking conflicted.

He smirked a little, “Thanks. But I'll leave the riddle solving to the professionals.”

The two Ravenclaws giggled a little, and then cut off just as they all reached the middle of the maze, the Triwizard Cup gleaming in the distance. And Cedric, sprinting out from one of the other openings, directly for it.

And the Acromantula that nearly landed on the Hufflepuff. Cho screamed this time, hands leaping up over her mouth as the seventeen year old's wand flew from his hand as he dove out of the way. She lunged forward, Marietta grabbing her, “It's a memory, Cho! It isn't real! There's nothing you can do! CHO!” the curly haired girl bellowed as the Ravenclaw sobbed and struggled against her hysterically.

Harry winced as he was snatched up, the girls shuddering and cringing back at the disgusting noise of tearing flesh as Harry sent a Disarming Charm down its throat and was dropped like so much rubbish onto his mangled leg – his flesh torn up and covered in venom.

Cedric was next to the Cup.

“ _Take it, then,” Harry panted to Cedric. “Go on, take it. You're there.”_

_But Cedric didn't move. He merely stood there, looking at Harry. Then he turned to stare at the Cup. Harry saw the longing expression on his face in its golden light. Cedric looked around at Harry again, who was now holding onto the hedge to support himself._

_Cedric took a deep breath. “You take it. You should win. That's twice you've saved my neck in here.”_

“ _That's not how it's supposed to work,” Harry said. He fely angry; his leg was very painful, he was aching all over from trying to throw the off the spider, and after all his efforts, Cedric had beaten him to it, just as he'd beaten Harry to ask Cho to the ball. “The one who reaches the Cup first gets the points. That's you. I'm telling you, I'm not going to win any races on this leg.”_

_Cedric took a few paces nearer to the Stunned spider, away from the Cup, shaking his head._

“ _No,” he said._

“ _Stop being noble,” said Harry irritably. “Just take it, then we can get out of here.”_

_Cedric watched Harry steadying himself, holding tight to the hedge._

“ _You told me about the dragons,” Cedric said._ (Susan and Cho gasped, looking at Harry in shock, making him shrug) _“I would've gone down in the first task if you hadn't told me what was coming.”_

“ _I had help on that, too,” Harry snapped, trying to mop up his bloody leg with his robes. “You helped me with the egg – we're square.”_

“ _I had help on the egg in the first place,” said Cedric._

“ _We're still square,” said Harry, testing his leg gingerly; it shook violently as he put weight on it; he had strained his ankle when the spider had dropped him._

“ _You should've got more points on the second task,” said Cedric mulishly. “You stayed behind to get all the hostages. I should've done that.”_

“ _I was the only one who was thick enough to take that son seriously!” said Harry bitterly. “Just take the Cup!”_

“ _No,” said Cedric._

Cho was crying openly again as her boyfriend stepped over the spider to join Harry, helping him up, walking away from the first piece of glory the Hufflepuff house had seen for centuries. And then Harry said both of them. And Cedric lit up like a kid at Christmas and it _hurt_.

And then they were in the graveyard. And memory Harry cried out, dropping to the ground as he clutched his head in pain.

“ _Kill the spare.”_

Cho screamed, this time was worse. She dropped down beside Cedric's fallen form, his face still confused wary, his eyes dull, mouth still slightly open.

Cedric was left forgotten, discarded, as Voldemort and Pettigrew continued with their activities. Cho cried, and cried, and eventually went quiet, kneeling beside her boyfriend's corpse, her bestfriend's arm around her shoulders. The three girls, dull, silent, _horrified_ witnesses as Voldemort rose again.

“ _How many will be brave enough to return when they feel it?” he whispered, his gleaming red eyes fixed upon the stars. “And how many will be foolish enough to stay away?”_

Susan wheeled around to stare at him, “He – he actually summoned his loyal Death Eaters?! How did you escape?” she gasped, wet eyed and terrified on his behalf.

He tilted his head dismissively with a grimace, “Watch.”

And they did, as the air filled with swishing cloaks, wizards appearing in almost every shadow, behind the trees, in open spaces, all of them hooded and masked. They crept towards their Dark Lord warily, like cats in a new environment, only to fall to their knees and crawl forward, kissing the hems of the monster's black robes. Cho choked on a sound that could have been disgust, could have been fury, could have been many things, was likely both of them at once.

Susan made a noise of fury as Avery was named, as he was tortured. “Who is 'Wormtail'?” she demanded, watching as the stressed looking man with the sunken in ratty face was given a new hand of shining enchanted silver to replace the one he offered to bring the Dark Lord back to life.

He didn't have a chance to answer before she made another sound of fury, Lucius Malfoy named amidst the Death Eaters, even declared complicit in the incident at the Quidditch World Cup last year. They watched as the blond man managed to ooze his way out of punishment, silver tongue working fast in order to avoid a _crucio_ of his own. They listened as he declared he intended to break open Azkaban, gain the support of the Dementors ' _our natural allies_ ', to recall the banished giants. He passed several Death Eaters in silence, others he named but to Susan's bristling anger and determined satisfaction. No doubt she was impressing every name he uttered deeply into her mind. Avery, Lucius Malfoy, Macnair, Crabbe, Goyle, and then three unnamed Death Eaters. One a cowardly run away, one who had left forever, and one hiding at _Hogwarts_.

And then the Death Eaters all turned their attention to Harry. And got front row seats to how Harry prevented Voldemort's return from as far back as his first year, as told from Voldemort's perspective. They learned about poor Bertha Jorkins, about the exact means that he used to give himself a new body, and then they gave him his wand back.

The girls cried out as he was hit with the cruciatus, gasped when he resisted the _imperio_ , and watched in awe and horror as their spells clashed, and a battle of wills exploded between them.

“What's going on?!” Cho shouted over the sound of roaring magic and phoenix song. Harry had forgotten how beautiful it was.

“ _Priori Incantatum!_ ” Susan shouted back. “A bastardised version! Their wand cores must have come from the same creature! Depending on who wins, we'll see the most recent spells cast by whomever loses!”

They watched the bead of clashing magic inch its way back towards Voldemort. Voldemort who looked horrified and confused, gripping his vibrating, heating wand with something very much like fear lining his face as he bared his evil looking teeth at them.

And then Harry won. And they saw Voldemort's wand beginning to spit the spirits of the people he killed out. And Cho began crying all over again, staring as Cedric emerged. And then.... then as more and more people disgorged, more of Voldemort's victims appeared, and then Marietta looked over at him in sudden horror and realisation. He nodded at the look on her face. Yeah. She realised. And then...

She came.

A young woman with long hair, the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter blossomed from the end of Voldemort's wand, the shadow of a tall man with untidy hair falling to the ground beside her.

Cedric begged him to take his body back, and –

Harry broke the connection, and sprinted for him, grabbing him and summoning the Triwizard cup as Voldemort screamed –

They landed once more at Hogwarts, to cheering, yells, and then screaming. Mad Eye took Harry and lead him back to the castle, and then.... Moody revealed who he was, everything. And Dumbledore blasted into the room and saved him. And they watched as the Real Mad Eye was found locked away in his own trunk. And the fake Mad Eye melted away into Barty Crouch Jr, recognised immediately by Professor Snape as he rushed in, phial of veritaserum in hand.

Winky screamed as she peered out from behind Snape's legs and spotted her former charge.

__

They yanked themselves out of the memory, gasping desperately and staggering backwards, the only thing stopping them from toppling backwards were the grip they had on each other's hands.

People shouted and exclaimed around them, and Harry felt Cho's hand tighten on his, to the point of being painful, on his otherside, Susan did the same only to let him go a moment later.

Everyone was still there, still watching them, so they clearly hadn't been in for long. He looked at Hermione who mouthed 'two minutes' at him. Two minutes wasn't too bad. They should be able to get through everyone in the single evening if it only took that long.

He grunted then, when Cho threw her arms around him, stiffening and going wide eyed, holding his hands clear and away from her in horror. He – Hermione was _right there_! He looked at her, panicked.

“Thank you,” the Ravenclaw girl whispered. “Thank you for bringing him home.” She kissed his cheek.

“You're welcome,” Harry managed to get out, strangled, desperately looking at his – his girlfriend for help.

Marietta must have read something on his face because she touched her friend's shoulder, making Cho let him go.

Hermione smiled kindly, if a little frostily, at them, “Come on. There's hot drinks downstairs. You look like you need a cup of tea,” she said, gently leading the three girls out of the office and down the stairs.

Harry looked over at the rest of the DA watching him and sighed, “Hufflepuffs next. He was your housemate.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There’s always use in fighting. Especially when it makes terrible people cry.” –Ransom Riggs (Emma Bloom: A Map of Days)

Watching Cedric die again, and again, and again, and _again_ let him feeling wrung out and exhausted. Watching Voldemort rise from his cauldron again, and again, and _again_ left him numb and dull. Seeing his mother and father _never – stopped – hurting._ And so after a while, he stopped watching the events around him and instead watched his students, watched the DA, as they were exposed to a typical end of year experience for Harry fucking Potter.

And at the end of it all, Ron and Hermione were the last ones in, because out of everyone, they deserved to know more than anyone except Cho.

They were silent while watching, Hermione holding his hand throughout it all, her grip tightening here and there, Ron wound an arm around his waist, knotting his fingers into his robes. Harry stopped watching, he wanted to talk, to joke, to reassure them both that he was alright that it wasn't anywhere near as bad as it looked, but he was _tired_. So, so tired. Bone tired. So he just closed his eyes, and tried to shut it out.

And when they surfaced, Hermione turned and threw her arms around him tightly, knocking him backwards into Ron who caught them both.

“Harry – ” she tried to continue, but her voice cracked and he felt her shoulders shudder. Oh _no_! She was crying.

“I'm fine, Hermione, I'm fine,” he promised her, quickly hugging her. “Fawkes healed me up good as new.” He grimaced, “Well, almost. You can barely see the scars. Honestly, I'm fine. Hermione, I promise, I'm okay.”

He flinched a little, tensing up when Ron moved in his peripheral vision, and froze when the red head kissed the side of his forehead. “We know. But it's the fact you had to face that _alone_ ,” he choked out, tightening his grip on the pair of them. “It's the fact that you _always_ have to face it alone, at the end of every year. You're always _alone_.”

He didn't know what to say to that. He pressed his lips together uncertainly, and Ron's expression twisted into something he couldn't read before he ducked and pressed his forehead against his, hugging both him and Hermione tightly against him as she cried silently into Harry's neck. He felt wretched. He did this. He made them feel like this. He knew it, this was a bad idea. It hadn't even been a _day_ and he had upset them this badly. He was a terrible boyfriend.

He rubbed Hermione's back until he felt her tears run their course. He waited a little longer, but she seemed in absolutely no hurry to let him go or step away. He nudged her a little, “C'mon. Everyone is waiting downstairs.”

“Fuck them,” she grumbled, tightening her grip on him.

He huffed a small smile, “I'd rather not.”

She sniffed and leaned back a bit, glaring at him with wet eyes, “No. I mean they can _wait_. They just forced you to relive that night, they can bloody well _wait_ until you're ready to see them, the selfish gits,” she told him harshly.

He opened and closed his mouth, lost, and unsure of what to say in response to that. “It – it wasn't that bad?” he tried tentatively, and knew it was the wrong thing immediately when her expression darkened and her lower lip wobbled dangerously. “I mean, comparatively?!” he rushed to say, “I mean – I couldn't even escape the room with Quirrel and he was strangling me even as his hands were burning and blistering? I grabbed his face and started boiling, that's pretty horrific for an eleven year old. All they did was cut my arm. Then there was the Basilisk in second year, it actually bit me, if it hadn't been for Fawkes, I'd've definitely died!” he babbled quickly, trying to reassure her.

It must have been working because her lower lip stopped trembling, and she didn't look like she was going to cry anymore. He kept going, feeling Ron tensing at his back, hands flexing on his biceps.

“And you were there for third year, with the Dementors! If Moony had gone for us a little more intelligently, I wouldn't have been there in time to save me or Sirius and then I wouldn't even have a soul – every Dementor the Ministry sent was there!” he exclaimed. “So really, it was – it was kind of tame? In terms of injury I mean,” he added. Watching Cedric die was.... horrible.

She was silent, just staring at him with an almost evil look on her face.

“Hermione?” he asked quietly, “I'm sorry I scared you, but really, it wasn't.... that bad. Please don't be mad?”

She took a deep breath, closing her eyes, and breathed out slowly.

“Harry.... I – ” She bit back what she was going to say and instead looked at him, “Can I kiss you?” she asked instead.

He felt a jolt in the pit of his stomach, “Er...”  
  
“I won't unless you say yes. But, please, I want to. Because I care about you very much, and I want to show you,” she said stiffly, flicking her eyes to Ron and then back to him, Harry could feel the red head's hands on his arms slowly rub up and down soothingly. He didn't even realise he had gone tense.

“I – um – y-yes?”

What was he doing?

It was soft, he fought not to twitch back, but Hermione shifted a hand up to his cheek to keep him still. He didn't know what to do, but it was... nice. _Terrifying_ , but nice. Her lips were warm, and soft, and a little wet. And – and there. That was all. Pressing gently.

And then she pulled back a little and kissed his cheek, the hand cupping his other one sliding around to wrap around him and hug him once more.

“U-uh...” he trailed off nervously, and felt her sigh into his neck.

“You want to go downstairs,” she said softly.

“They-they've been waiting a while,” he admitted quietly, “They're... not used to that kind of stuff. I should – I don't know. They've probably got questions,” he said helplessly. And she sighed.

Her hands went up to his cheeks and she kissed him again, hard, practically pressing him back against Ron's chest. He spluttered a little in alarm, his yelp muffled by her mouth. “You are far too good for us,” she complained almost angrily against his lips.

“I – I'm sorry?!”

She pulled back and shook her head, a half-hearted smile on her mouth, “No. I am.” He had no idea what she meant, and she didn't seem to be willing to explain as she let him go and turned to the door.

Ron kissed the side of his head, “She's sorry for not realising you're always going to be the kind of person who puts others before himself,” he murmured quietly into his hair, squeezing him a little tighter before nudging him forwards. The type of person to put others before himself? N-no? He wasn't? If he was, he'd have been able to save Cedric. If he was, he'd have shown Cho that night months ago. He'd have been able to clear Sirius's name. He'd have been able to – to – keep Ron and Hermione safe throughout all the _bullshit_ over the years. He was _selfish_. And possessive. And – ugh, he was _pathetic_.

He took a breath and straightened his shoulders. There were more important things to deal with right now than his own flaws and stupidity. He had to go and make sure all those children downstairs were alright after what he just put them through, he had to present them with the enchanted papers that Hermione wrote out for them – for those who wanted to join the Brotherhood of Assassins.

“There's our _Mentore_ ,” Hermione teased, making him pause, and blink at her.

“What?”

Ron snickered behind him, “Well, you _are_ , aren't you? Our leader who is teaching us, who has a wealth of experience under his belt, and great wisdom?” he asked pointedly.

Harry spluttered, “I – I'm not – I – ”

“You're the _leader_ ,” Hermione stressed from the doorway, her smile gentling into something understanding. “I know it's intimidating, but... we trust you, Harry. That's why we chose you to be the leader of the DA to start with. You'll make a great Mentor.”

He took a deep breath, and shook himself. Alright. Alright. Just.... Fuck. Alright. Ignore that for now. Focus on the people downstairs. It had taken an hour to get through everyone, including the time inbetween viewings as people jockied and argued over who should go next, organising themselves into viewing groups. Some went in twos, others in threes, and now at the end of it all, Harry, Ron, and Hermione viewed them and then stayed up here for another fifteen minutes. That made it almost an hour and a half since they came up here to view the memories. They would have had ample time to digest and process what they'd seen, talk about it amidst themselves and begin coming to terms with it. None of them had actually gone through the experience themselves, it shouldn't impact them too much in that regard.

“Let's go,” he said, instead of replying to their earlier words.

Everyone was waiting in the dormitories, Dobby was with them, handing out drinks, his ears flapping with anxiety and worry whenever he saw one of them looking more tearful than the others. Harry smiled to see the little elf taking care of his friends.

“Everyone alright?” he asked as he came to a stop in front of them all.

“How can you _ask_ that?” Zacharias demanded weakly, squinting at him without hostility for the first time in their acquaintance. “How are you not a – a freakin' _wreck_?” he asked rubbing at his face.

Harry shrugged dully, “Same shit, different year,” he summed up flatly before looking over them all and conjuring himself a chair to sit on, it was a simple wooden school chair, but he needed something to lean on so he sat on it backwards, and propped his elbows up on the backrest to set his chin on. “Voldemort has been trying to regain a body since our first year, one way or another. He just got lucky last year,” he summed up tiredly.

“Those rumours about the Philosopher's Stone were real?” Hannah Abbott gasped, “I thought Florence was just telling tall tales!”

“Florence?” Ginny asked, leaning forward on her pillow.

The blonde girl nodded, “Florence Nightinggale, the portrait in the Hospital Wing. She comes to Hufflepuff to gossip with Bridget Wenlock, the arithmancer,” she explained quickly. Next to her, Susan Bones nodded.

“We hear a lot of rumours,” she admitted.

Harry blinked at them, “Yes. The Philosopher's Stone was in Hogwarts. Yes, Voldemort tried to steal it. Yes, Professor Quirrel was working for him. Yes, I killed him.” Gasps went up amongst the students, mutters, but they all fell silent very quickly, almost nervously. Looking, not at Harry, but at Ron with sudden wariness. He rolled his head around and saw the red head had pulled his wand, he hadn't raised it, but he stood to Harry's right with a fierce look on his face, glaring at everyone. He huffed a small smile at his – his boyfriend before looking back at them. “He was trying to strangle me. I think I was within my rights to set him on fire,” he told them flatly.

“You were eleven,” Cho warbled weakly. “You shouldn't have even been in danger. You should have been tucked up safe in your bed in Gryffindor Tower!”

“Someone had to do something,” Hermione snapped ferociously, glaring at the Ravenclaw icily.

“And we _kept_ doing something. Every year we did everything we could,” Ron chimed in harshly from Harry's other side. “The Chamber of Secrets. Sirius Black, the Dementors, and Wormtail. The Death Eaters. Every year. _Every damn year!_ Harry has put his life on the line for you. All of you. All of _us_. You don't get to judge him. Not one of you,” he snarled, bristling in his robes.

Harry reached out, touching the back of his hand. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Ron knew he did those things because they _needed to be done_. Not for the fame, for the recognition. But because he wanted to keep people safe, wanted to see them happy. They didn't need to know. In fact, it would be better for them if they didn't.

He subsided, and Harry turned his attention back to the silent room.

“Shit happens,” he declared bluntly. “Despite _everything_ that happened, no one got hurt except for me. And that was fine. But last year, they killed Cedric. Last year they did something that couldn't be fixed, couldn't be taken back, couldn't _heal_ and scab over and scar. Last year they declared war. And I intend to fight. Dumbledore played catch and release with them in the first war. And as we all saw, regardless of the second chances given to them, they came crawling back at his first whistle. So this time, we're not giving them another chance.”

“You're going to kill them,” Marietta declared, her voice startlingly loud in the room.

“We are,” Hermione agreed flatly.

“Fuck,” Zacharias swore under his breath, and then chugged the last of his tea. “Fuck. I'm in.” He got to his feet, and stared at them. “I'm the last Smith standing. They killed _everyone_ in the last war. My parents. My grandparents. Aunts, Uncles, all my cousins, the babies, even our pets and our house-elves. You say you're going to put them down permanently, I'm in.”

Cho stood up, “For Cedric.”

The Weasley twins stood with Ginny, “You already know our decision,” Fred announced proudly, George nodding behind him even as Ginny jutted her chin out on his other side, daring anyone to tell her to sit back down.

Susan stood, ignoring the gasps from her housemates as she looked Harry dead in the eye, “You can't make a cake without breaking some eggs. And you can't win a war without shedding blood. I'm in.” She smirked then at Hermione, “Besides, if it's a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws, then surely too the execution of unjust leaders is a responsibility as well?” she asked with a shark like smile and dark eyes.

Hermione smirked at her. And Harry knew down to his bones that they were both women cut from the same cloth.

“Dobby will help also!” Everyone turned in surprise to see the tiny elf as he climbed up onto the railing, his face set in stubborn lines. He looked around at them all with large eyes, “Dobby has seen the Dark Lord and his Minions at work. Dobby has felt the sting of their wands. Dobby will not stand back and let Harry Potter Sir's friends suffer that pain! Dobby will fight too!” he cried passionately, raising his fist into the air.

One by one, in groups, in pairs, _every single member_ of the DA got to their feet, and threw their lot in with him. Declared that they would be willing to fight and die and kill. And Harry felt heavy and sick with it even as he swallowed his dry mouth and welcomed them. Even as he looked at them and knew they could make the difference, knew that together they would save so many people.

He got to his feet and banished the chair.

“Welcome to the Brotherhood of Assassins.”

 

* * *

 

It was almost tragic that the very breakfast that Hagrid returned to them was the same one that Harry had planned to present his howler to Madam Umbridge on. The half-giant gave him a great whiskery grin as he saw him approaching the headtable, only for his face to drop in a mixture of hurt and confusion when Harry shook his head ever so slightly, and veered towards Madam Umbridge.

It had been three days since the DA meeting where they had all declared their intentions to follow them, to fight, and ever since, the DA members had been working with their housemates, whispering in the right ears, making arguments, reasons, and spreading the world amongst the students of the boycott they had planned, what it was, what it meant. Harry had already passed the letters written by them to the Daily Prophet, the Quibbler, the School Board, the Ministry of Magic itself, and had him post it not only into the Leaky Cauldron, the Three Broomsticks, the Hogshead, but also in Diagon Alley and all around Hogsmeade.

And now, before the morning post arrived, Harry presented the Hogwarts High Inquisitor with a smoking red envelope.

Her wide toady mouth opened – and the howler burst.

 

**WE, THE STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS, TO MADAM UMBRIDGE, SELF-PROCLAIMED HIGH INQUISITOR, DECLARE OUR DISSATISFACTION WITH THE QUALITY OF THE EDUCATION WE HAVE RECEIVED FROM THE DEFENCE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS CLASSES HERE WITHIN HOGWARTS. WE DECLARE OUR DISSATISFACTION WITH THE TREATMENT OF OURSELVES AND OUR PEERS AT THE HANDS OF YOURSELF, SELF-PROCLAIMED HIGH INQUISITOR. WE DECLARE OUR DISSATISFACTION WITH YOUR QUALIFICATIONS AS AN EDUCATOR. WITH YOUR BEHAVIOUR AS AN EDUCATOR. WITH YOUR ABILITIES AS AN EDUCATOR.**

 

**WE, THE STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS, IN OUR OWN BEST INTERESTS FOR THE FUTURE, FOR OUR HEALTH AND WELLBEING, DECLARE FROM THIS MOMENT FORTH, WE WILL NOT STUDY UNDER YOURSELF, MADAM UMBRIDGE, SELF-PROCLAIMED HIGH INQUISITOR, WE WILL NOT ADHERE TO YOUR EDUCATIONAL DECREES, WE WILL NOT ATTEND DETENTIONS ISSUED OR MONITORED BY YOURSELF. WE, THE STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS, WILL CONTINUE OUR EDUCATION WITH TRUSTED AND ACCREDITED PROFESSORS SELECTED BY HOGWARTS FACULTY. WE, THE STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS, WILL ADHERE TO WRITTEN SCHOOL RULES ISSUED BY HOGWARTS FACULTY. WE, THE STDUENTS OF HOGWARTS, WILL ADHERE TO DETENTIONS GIVEN AND MONITORED BY THE FACULTY OF HOGWARTS.**

 

**WE, THE STUDENTS OF HOGWARTS, WILL CONTINUE THIS COURSE OF ACTION UNTIL MADAM UMBRIDGE, SELF-PROCLAIMED HIGH INQUISITOR, IS REMOVED FROM HOGWARTS WHOLESALE.**

 

**THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME**

 

And then, even as her face turned an array of colours from red, to purple, to white, green, and then grey, every single individual in both Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff, as well as several from Slytherin, got to their feet, and walked out of the Great Hall without a word.

“Get back here! Students! Students! Anyone who takes another step out of this Great Hall will lose a hundred points for their house! You will turn around this instant!” the woman screamed, leaping to her feet in horror.

No one stopped, no one turned around, they kept walking until there wasn't a single student left behind, except Harry who waited until she saw him, and then he turned away from her as well.

He didn't smile. He didn't say anything. He just turned around and walked.

“MADAM UMBRIDGE!” Dumbledore's voice thundered out, and a spell flashed past Harry's ear, hot and stinging, but it didn't hit.

Chaos erupted behind him as he left the Great Hall.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than usual, simply because I didn't really have the time to make it longer and this was such an amazing point to leave off.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The most dangerous illusion from which free men suffer is the widely held idea that freedom maintains itself by the mere fact of its being.” –Dorothy Thompson (What Price Liberty?)

This... was not as planned he decided faintly, staring at the first years milling around the Gryffindor Common Room, being noisy, excitable, and getting underfoot.

None of them had thought of the lower years when planning this boycott, how they were going to learn, because unlike the rest of them they hadn't been at Hogwarts long enough to realise just how important DADA was to surviving and would study regardless of a teacher being there or not. Right now, the first years were running around screaming, some kind of game of 'Chase' had been started, a pair of girls were giggling over a Witch Weekly magazine, and some boys had started a gobstones game at one of the other tables.

Harry looked helplessly at Hermione. “Can you take notes for me?” he asked weakly. Their next subject was Charms, Flitwick wouldn't mind him skipping in order to help the firsties as long as the work got done eventually. Speaking _of,_ he should get _all_ the first years, not just the Gryffindors.

She huffed in amusement, leaning over and kissing his cheek, “Of course.”

Ron gave the screaming first years a dubious look, “Better you than me,” he decided before doing the same and kissing his other cheek.

Harry blushed horrible as several of the watching firsties piped up with high pitched 'ooOOOooh's, 'ewww's, and laughter. Hermione just rolled her eyes and marched her way through the chaos to the girls dormitory for her things, Ron stepping away to do the same in their room, leaving Harry staring at ten eleven year olds in rising trepidation. He took a breath and clapped his hands to get their attention.

“Alright you lot, dial it down a sec! Sorry about this, we completely forgot to account for replacement lessons for the younger years when we planned this. I'll be with you this time.” He grinned a little at the groans of disappointment. “Sorry, no free period, guys. Defence is too important to actually making it to your final year in one piece to be ignored. Grab your bags and wands everyone. We're going to go and pick up the rest of the first years and go find an empty classroom.”

There was a great rush of movement, yelling, and talk as the firsties did as they were told with only minimal complaint. Ron and Hermione left their dormitories with their things, Ron carrying his bag along with him thankfully, and had to dodge around the smaller students to get out. At least he got more kisses from them on their way out. Eventually he wrangled the little lion cubs into following him, leading the procession of firsties down a few shortcuts to Ravenclaw tower where he was confronted by an eagle headed knocker where he saw his DA students pause at every evening.

“What kind of goose fights with snakes?” the knocker asked him, making the first years jump and whisper. Great. Riddles. Now he understood what Marietta meant when she said he'd have made a half-decent Ravenclaw.

Thankfully Harry knew this one without having to spend five minutes thinking through it and looking like an idiot to a bunch of eleven year olds.

“A mongoose,” he said quickly. He'd have wanted to say all of them, because they _would_. Geese were second only to dragons in vicious temperament.

“Very true,” the eagle agreed before opening the way to yet more screaming eleven year old chaos.

At least the Ravenclaw chickies were faster to round up and do as they were told. Pretty soon he had a gaggle of children all dutifully following him through the corridors on their way down to find a decent empty classroom where he could dump them before going to fetch whatever Slytherin students might have decided to take up the boycott, and the Hufflepuffs.

He found them a good room on the first floor, ironically, the same room that the broken Vanishing Cabinet had been stashed away in. But that was quickly and easily resolved by calling for Dobby and asking him to please take it to the Room where they could work at repairing it. Once it was out of the way, he ushered the children inside and told them to behave themselves while he fetched the rest of their yearmates. He went to Slytherin first, figuring that it would be easier to start there and work his way back rather than take a bunch of children down and then escort them back up. There wasn't _likely_ to be anyone, or anyone that would be willing to learn from 'Harry Potter', but it was important that he made the gesture.

Montague answered when he knocked on their wall, his expression twisting in alarm, then confusion and disgust at the sight of him.

“Potter! What are you doing here, Mudblood?” he sneered.

Harry smiled lightly at him, “Call me that again and I'll wrap your entrails around your head like a turban. I'm looking for any first years ditching Umbridge's class,” he explained. “We fucked up and forgot to arrange a substitute, so until she's gone I'm covering for the firsties.”

He looked poleaxed, “And you're _willing_ to teach Slytherins?” he demanded sceptically.

Harry gave him the look he felt that comment deserved. “They're eleven. Hardly the source of all evil, Montague. Yes, I'm willing to teach the Slytherin first years if they want.”

He sneered again, hiding his uncertainty with aggression. “None of them want to learn from you, Potter!” he snapped, and then slammed the wall shut once more.

He sighed and shrugged. Well. He had offered.

He made his way to Hufflepuff and collected the first years from a pair of very grateful seventh years who had been trying to keep an eye on them while also studying for their NEWTs during their free period.

Nothing was on fire when he got back to the room with the badger kits, and he called that a rousing success as he ushered them all inside.

“Well, I'm sorry about all this. We completely forgot to make plans for you guys when we came up with that boycott plan, so until a proper Professor can be found, I'll probably be doing what I can for you.” He shrugged as all the little faces stared up at him, “I'm already tutoring almost everyone in fifth year for their OWLs. Okay, some of you probably don't know who I am, being muggleborn or muggleraised, my name is Harry Potter, I'm a fifth year here at Hogwarts. I'm going to pass a sheet of parchment around and I'd like everyone to write their names and houses on it so I know who I've got in here, alright? Cool. Here we go,” he said as he took the promised sheet and gave it to the indian girl in the front row.

It took all of five minutes for the parchment to be passed from the front of the room to the back, and in that time he wrote a few things on the board, his name in the top corner, and the Defence text he used in _his_ first year: _The Dark Forces, a Guide to Self Protection_. And a list of spells and subjects they were going to cover.

“All done? Good.” He summoned the sheet of parchment and gave it a cursory glance before setting it on the table behind him. “Okay, this was my first year text book. It's a pretty good one, there should be some copies in the school library, if not, I'm sure I can talk to one of the Heads of House into digging a couple of copies out of storage from somewhere. Dark Forces is a pretty good introductory guide for the basics here, couple of spells inside, some good guides in identifying dangerous beings and beasts, and a few bits and pieces about the history of spells and laws behind why some beings are beings and not beasts, and vice versa.

“But for now, I think I'll be focusing on what we have a little closer to home. The kinds of things you might very well run into while wandering around the halls of Hogwarts, how to handle them, and why you absolutely should never go into the Forbidden Forest,” he stressed with a frown at them all, making those students sat closest to him swallow and lean back nervously.

“Now. Can anyone name me a creature that you might find in a castle like this?” he asked, picking up his chalk once again, “Shout it out, don't be shy.”

Someone called ghosts, someone chimed out with Dullahan, Red Caps, Boggarts, Werewolves, Hags, voices were coming from all over the room calling just about everything they could think of at the top of their heads, which Harry separated into three categories – but didn't title or name them.

“Alright, that's enough now,” he laughed as someone called out about trolls and was called an idiot by the boy sat next to him. Little did he know. “Well done everyone. Now, as you can see, I've split all your suggestions into three categories. Can you tell me why? Is there anything they have in common?” he asked lightly.

“Likely, Unlikely, and Impossible?” a Gryffindor boy asked from the middle of the classroom, frowning at the board.

“No, it's domestic, foreign, and uh, dead?” a Ravenclaw girl suggested from the back row.

“Beings, Beasts, and Unclassified?” another Ravenclaw girl asked, her head a riot of black curls around her dark face.

“Close!” he called, pointing to her. “Intelligent,” he declared, pointing beneath the werewolf, ghost, hag, etc. “Instinctive.” Werewolf, dragon, red cap, etc. “And somewhere in the middle.” Troll, boggart, etc.

“Why have you got werewolf on there twice?” a Ravenclaw boy asked from the front.

“Because the human brain is very intelligent. One of our previous Defence Professors was a werewolf, great guy, one of the best teachers we'd ever had. But his inner wolf was about as dumb as a box of rocks and about as foul tempered as you could imagine,” he explained easily with a grin at the looks of alarm on several students faces. “Now. I'm going to put a list of creatures and beings that I _personally_ have seen here at Hogwarts. I want all of you to write your own columns for them to classify them. And then I want you to think about how and where I might have found or encountered them. Alright?”

He erased the board and wrote. Trolls, Devil's Snare, Cerberus, Dragons, Poltergeist, Wraith, House Elf, Arcomantula, Basilisk, Centaur, Werewolf, Hinkypuff, Porlock, Grindylow, Merfolk, Boggart, Dementor, Hippogriff, Phoenix, Kneazle, Grim, Unicorn, Dwarf, and rounded it off with Veela.

The looks on their faces when they saw the finished list was hilarious.

A girl in Hufflepuff robes tentatively raised her hand.

“Yes?” he asked kindly.

“Y-you've _seen_ a _Basilisk_ in _Hogwarts_?” she squeaked.

He nodded solemnly. “It's dead now. But, yes. A little something Salazar Slytherin left in the basement. If you all behave yourself and work hard, maybe at the end of the year I'll show it to you.”

The Gryffindor boys all suddenly looked _very_ excited.

 

* * *

 

Honestly, given how he was flying by the seat of his pants and making it up as he went, he was very surprised by how much of a success his lesson had been. The first years had very much enjoyed themselves and he'd not only managed to get them thinking about the dangers of intelligent enemies, but also what to do if they encountered any one of the creatures that he himself had found within Hogwarts. He assured them that several had been brought in for various purposes, many of which were no longer present on grounds, some of which were destroyed, but many of which were in various places here and there.

Several of the girls had thus declared they were _never_ going swimming in the lake. No matter how hot it got in summer.

Probably smart of them. He didn't know how far up the Grindylow nests were, and while he was fairly sure Hagrid maintained a safe boundary for the students, Grindylow were still very opportunistic hunters. And a lone firstie was a very tempting target.

He met up with Ron and Hermione for Transfiguration, getting his notes off his girlfriend who very pointedly tapped her cheek at him once she handed them over. He blinked at her in confusion until she puckered her lips a little and he realised what she was asking of him. He turned crimson and shuffled his feet before quickly pecking her cheek.

“Thanks Hermione,” he mumbled, embarrassed when he realised Seamus and Dean were gaping at them.

She smiled happily as she linked her arm with him. “How did the first years like their lesson?” she asked curiously.

“Surprisingly well, actually,” he admitted as they went in. “I need to ask Professor McGonagall about getting them some decent text books, but they're already thinking about how to keep themselves safe. The girls are vowing not to go swimming in the lake, and two of the Gryffindor boys have sworn off the Forest, so I'd call it a win.”

“What's this?” Professor McGonagall asked severely as she passed them, a box of goblets in arm.

Hermione beamed at her, “We forgot to arrange a substitute for the first years, so Harry took them aside to teach them instead.”

He flushed when she looked sharply at him. “I didn't want them to fail their end of year exams because we were thick. I recommended the same text we had our first year, and talked them through a couple of creatures they might run into here at Hogwarts is all.”

“And what text is that, Mister Potter?” she asked flatly.

“Dark Forces, a Guide to Self Protection. I – er, I said I'd ask you if there were any copies left in storage or something. I don't think the library has enough for everyone,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

“I will look into it. Twenty points to Gryffindor, Mister Potter, for taking responsibility of your peers and looking out for them,” she declared, setting a pair of goblets down, and sweeping off to the next table where Ron and Neville were sat.

 

* * *

 

They had Defence at the end of the day, and it was with great cheer that Harry, Ron, Hermione, and just about everyone in their yeargroup blew it off completely. They made their way to the Room where the three took their new Novices into the armoury and dug out robes for them.

“Not everyone is going to be starting the same,” Harry explained as he sized Neville up and chose from a slightly larger basket for him. “One group is going to be viewing some memories today. The rest of the group will be running the agility poles in the lake. Now, the trick to the poles is that you're going to get wet.” He grinned at them. “You _will_ fall. You will get hurt. But it is possible to run across them. I promise. Me, Ron, and Hermione have all done it. It took us a while, so don't expect to get everything right tonight.

“Tomorrow, another group will view the memories while everyone else practices on the poles. And again, and again, until everyone has seen the memories. When you can run the poles, you get to upgrade to the aerial assault course in the main hall above the sandpits.”

“Hang on! There's no cushioning charms down there except for on the very edges!” Lavender exclaimed, clutching her robes to her chest.

Harry nodded, “Yes. We're not always going to have the luxury of soft landings, or being quick enough with charms. We're going to have to learn how to take our landings, good and bad, and deal with them. Don't worry, we've gotten pretty good at healing charms and we're learning more all the time,” he soothed as he handed another set of robes out, this time to Dean who was by far the tallest, but also one of the thinnest of the boys present.

When everyone had a set of robes, they took them down to the bath-hall changing rooms to put their day clothes away in baskets and get into their training robes. It was.... _something_ to see all the novice assassins in the making milling around the room. It was almost enough to lodge a lump in Harry's throat as he realised that this had probably not happened in such numbers since.... since _Ezio_ or Altair themselves.

He took them to the poles before he did something stupid or sappy.

Hermione gathered Cho Chang, Marietta Edgecomb, and Susan Bones to go upstairs and view Altair Ibn-La'Ahad's memories, reasoning that it was the training that they needed to see now – not Ezio's journey of revenge. That would come later. They had talked it over. Each group would be taken aside for a day to view first Altair's memories, then Ezio's, then Ratonhnhake:ton's. If they still wished to learn more, then Edward Kenway, Arno Dorian, Kassandra, and Evie Frye's memories could be viewed in their own time _after_ everyone else had viewed the 'big three'.

Halfway through running the poles the rest of the DA showed up, and Harry abandoned Ron to overseeing their yearmates in order to get them fitted and ready to run themselves.

“Oh man,” Angelina told him as she followed him up the stairs, “Umbridge was _steaming_ mad you weren't at dinner. Like, honestly, she looked ready to start cursing people.”

Harry smirked a little. “Good. That means our boycott is working. She only has the power we _let_ her have,” he declared before rummaging into the baskets for more robes.

“First years are all gushing about you as well,” Katie pointed out with a worried look. “Apparently when only the Slytherins showed up for lessons she did one and stormed out, went to every Common Room to the library to the Great Hall looking for them. When she found out you'd taken them aside and taken over their lessons she _literally_ changed colour. I've never seen a human turn that shade of purple. You should be careful walking around, Harry. I think she might _actually_ try to curse you if she thinks she can get away with it.”

“Probably,” he agreed, handing her a robe. “She tried while I was walking out this morning. Dumbledore yanked her wand out of her hand. Made her miss her shot.”

“What a pathetic bitch,” Angelina decided, casually stripping out of her robes for the new set, shameless in front of the rest of the Quidditch team. They had, all of them, seen each other in their underwear, and naked on occasion. Still, Angelina was very pretty, and erm, _well-developed_. Harry turned red and looked everywhere but at her.

Fred and George snickered at him.

“Oh!” Lee Jordan suddenly exclaimed, “Dude, what's this I hear about you and Granger?” he demanded, suddenly bouncing forward, making the whole Quidditch Team suddenly zero in on him.

“Really?” Alicia gasped, lighting up. “You finally asked her out?!”

“Errr,” he trailed off helplessly, flushing as the girls suddenly clustered around him with Lee. “It was – more – she asked _me_.”

Angelina looked surprised, “But I thought she had a thing with Ron?” she demanded, looking over her shoulder at her boyfriend for confirmation.

“S-she _does_ ,” Harry agreed quietly, and the girls suddenly exchanged looks, their faces falling. “I do too,” he admitted, even more quietly, making them pause.

“Wait, what?” Alicia asked, flatfooted.

“Um. I'm – we're all – we're together. All three of us,” he admitted nervously.

“Ronnikins had a massive raging crush on both of them,” Fred chimed in, taking the heat off for which Harry would be _eternally grateful_ for. “And it wasn't unreturned.” He shrugged.

“They're all together,” George stated casually as he belted his robes on, as if it were no big deal.

“Ooh!” Lee exclaimed, snapping his fingers. “Just like your Uncle Gideon! Right, I get it now! Nice one, Harry!” he grinned, grabbing his hand and shaking it proudly, as if he had something to do with their coming together.

Harry smiled a little weakly, his attention still on the girls. Angelina and Alicia shrugged, accepting it easily enough. Katie however looked a bit uncomfortable, and Harry remembered that her family were mixed blood, and she had been muggle-raised. She probably had the same hang-ups about it as he did. Thankfully she didn't say anything, he wasn't sure how he would have reacted if she'd come out with anything negative. Especially if she accused him of cheating on either of Ron or Hermione. Or if she said that his being with another boy was disgusting. She had never struck him as that sort of person, but you... never really knew with some people, not until it came out of their mouths.

The subject was quickly dropped and Harry lead them down to the poles where they could all hear the sound of people falling in, screaming, and swearing, all accompanied by Ron's laughter and teasing calls.

The fact that Ron was stood in the middle of the poles, perched like some kind of white gargoyle, out of reach and laughing at them, was a taunt in of itself. Ginny got across five of the poles and then tried to throw herself at him, and drag him into the lake with her. Only she couldn't quite make the distance, and Ron cackled at her. Even when she shook his pole, he remained where he was, snickering at her furious efforts.

Fred shook his head sourly. “If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes,” he repeated grumpily.

Harry snickered at him and then promptly launched himself across the poles, leaping easily, and landing on one of the taller poles, leaning into it as it bent under him and swayed alarmingly. People yelled and gasped, only to boo and swear at him when it straightened up, and he remained perched upon the very tip.

His boyfriend laughed and flashed him a thumbs up – right before Ginny tackled him off his pole into the water.

 

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Usually when people are sad, they don't do anything. They just cry over their condition. But when they get angry, they bring about a change.”   
> ― Malcolm X

To the surprise of no one, except her brothers, Ginny was the first one across the poles. Harry had her keep running them until she could reliably cross five times in a row before he would take her to the aerial course – that didn't happen before the end of the session that day (she was still unsteady, she managed to cross once, but it seemed to still be a work in progress, and at the moment more a fluke of luck than any particular skill. But she would get it eventually, he knew she would). Come eight o'clock he had them all leave the poles to get healed in the infirmary and then warmed up in the baths – Ernie and Colin being exceptionally noisy with surprise and excitement over them. Not many of the DA had explored the rest of the room while in there, Harry tended to have them working from the moment they arrived to the moment they left. This was the first time many of them had been to the baths here.

The next morning, third period was Divination for him, but it was also time for the first years to have their Defence lessons. He asked Ron to take notes for him and went to collect them from the greenhouses where they had just finished Herbology – and made his offer directly to the Slytherin students while he was at it. They looked terrified. Which answered that question for him without having to ask. Someone, Umbridge or an upper year Slytherin, had put the fear of Dementors into the poor little things.

“It's okay,” he assured them quickly, hands out and palms up. “If you want lesson notes, just to look at, that's cool. I can leave them with your yearmates to pass on. How's that?” he suggested gently, watching as the frantic looks dissolved into just wary ones.

He let them go and shepherded his students to their classroom – only to find Peeves doing his best impression of a demented skiiball inside. He quickly steered them to a different room. Sometimes, he told them, discretion was the better part of valour. Tangling with a poltergeist when it had gotten into its head to cause mischief was not a task to be taken lightly, and was often times more trouble than it was worth. In this instance, it was just easier to occupy a different classroom and let Peeves pretend to be a pinball. He used the incident as an example for the first half of their lesson, teaching them about the often overlooked spectral beings and how they could be a hazard before moving on to what to do if they ever encountered themselves or others in a dangerous situation here in Hogwarts, or elsewhere, and the laws that surrounded such situations (as soon as Hermione had managed to drag a full accounting of what had happened at his Underage Magic Hearing she dove heard first into every law book she could get her hands on, in case they tried again).

He then assigned them homework, randomised into picking scraps of parchment from a hat of creatures and beings, and another one of locations, he told them to write him half a page of what they could do in each situation to protect themselves, or others. It was only after they left that he realised he had made a terrible mistake.

He was going to have to actually _mark_ that homework.

Cursing himself, he stomped off to the library to at least make the illusion of his studying DADA while leading the boycott. In truth, he wrote up notes for the Slytherin first years, issuing them the same homework if they wanted to give it a try, and then began to make some plans for future lessons for them – in case he had to ask Ron or Hermione to take over for him, or even one of the other upper years. His friends eventually joined him, each greeting him with a kiss on the cheek as they dropped their bags and books down on the table making him blush violently – and only encourage Ron into planting more and more of them on almost every inch of his face that he could reach (except his mouth, which he was both grateful and weirdly disappointed by), making Harry flail and eventually push him away with a tomato red face and a silly grin.

His boyfriend then presented the notes he took in divination about their tarot card reading, but wouldn't let him have them until he got some kisses for himself. Harry really wanted to jab him in the ribs because after that exchange earlier, everyone was watching them – at least until Ron wheeled around and demanded to know what they were all bogging at.

It was amazing how quickly they found other things to pay attention to when an angry near six-foot red head with a two foot shoulder width was barking at them.

Ron turned back to him with such an eager, almost puppy-ish, look that Harry couldn't help but huff a quiet laugh and lean up to kiss his cheek. He was rewarded with his promised notes, and the red head sat down very pleased with himself to drag out his still unfinished potions homework.

Umbridge appeared in the doorway to the library, her beady eyes fixed upon them with malevolent hatred and Harry felt his eyes itching as he watched her from the corner of his eyes. The air around her practically boiled with her feelings, and he couldn't have ignored her even if he wanted to, even though he was very good at pretending otherwise. Neither Ron or Hermione had noticed her. The other two were bent over their homework, the very picture of diligent students, and Harry had a stack of defence texts next to him that he made a show of leafing through and making notes about in his lesson plan even as he kept tabs on her.

He was not disappointed as she marched herself over to their table.

“ _hem, hem._ ”

Harry had a choice here, he could see it almost as clearly as her broiling rage. He could answer. Or he could ignore her. The former would open communication she would try to crucify him with, but the latter would prompt her temper to the point where she might attempt to destroy his notes. However. _Not_ answering her could also be considered childish, and would damage their position in this 'arena' of civil rebellion.

He set his quill aside, set his laced fingers on the table in front of him, on top of his notes so she could neither read nor snatch them away, and looked up at her, channelling every inch of the Mentor Altair, of Ezio in his old age, settled in his bones, and Evie Frye, right before she gutted a man. “May I help you, Madam Umbridge?” he asked pleasantly.

Instantly drawing the attention of everyone near-by, including Madam Pince, for he hadn't lowered his voice at all.

“You should be in class, Mister Potter. That will be a month of detention with me, and fifty points from Gryffindor,” she announced.

Harry pursed his lips, visibly 'thought' about it, before shaking his head. “I am afraid not, Madam Umbridge. You – ”

Her face flushed violently red. “ _I am Hogwarts High Inquisitor –_ ”

“ – are not an educator I feel – ”

“ – _will show me respect_ – ”

“I don't respect you, Madam!” he informed her flatly, cutting her off at the knee, and leaving her gaping at him with an open mouth, her wide toady eyes bulging in their sockets. “I don't respect you,” he repeated softly, with intensity. “You have done _nothing_ deserving of respect. And everything within your limited capabilities to ensure it's _loss_. I have no intention of learning from a woman who does not know her subject material. I will not put my future at risk for your ego,” he informed her sharply.

“I will have you _expelled_ for this!” she practically shrieked.

“Show me where, in the school rules, I am deserving of such,” he asked calmly, peering up at her over the rims of his glasses as the air wavered hazily around her, her magic practically sizzling around her with red red rage.

“Educational Decree – ”

Harry sniffed, “That is drivel. Unofficial. And nothing more than your personal power-trip,” he told her flatly. “If you have nothing pertinent to say, Madam Umbridge, please leave. You are disturbing the library, and I am trying to actually learn something.”

She drew her wand – and Madam Pince moved with the speed of a viper, summoning it out from between her fingers and bearing down on her practically breathing fire.

“No magic in the library!” she barked, “No shouting! Out! Out out out! This is not a Quidditch Match you can screech at, Madam!”

Madam Pince practically bullied the woman out of the library, refusing to return her wand until she was past the threshold and then throwing it at her with every ounce of contempt she could muster. Barring her way back into the room with great aplomb, and letting rip with exactly what she thought of the woman's treatment of her precious library and its priceless books of knowledge.

Under the table, Ron's hand pressed against his knee, and Harry took a deep breath.

 

* * *

 

Sunday morning saw Hermione forcing her way through two feet of snow to visit Hagrid while Harry worked on marking his adorable little first years' essays with increasing dismay and horror over both their handwriting and spelling, while Ron tried to work his way through the alarmingly high pile of homework they had managed to accrue over the weeks of spending almost every free moment in the room running around instead of with textbooks and quills. She didn't come back until almost lunch, shivering slightly, her robes sodden up to the knees as she hurried through into Gryffindor Common Room.

“How bad was it?” Ron asked as she came in and yanked her robes up and off without care, tossing them over the back of a chair and quickly going over to hug him. “EY! NO NO! COLD HANDS!” he squawked in alarm as she snuggled into him and then proceeded to try and shove her icy fingers into his armpits in her 'hugging' attempt.

Harry snickered at them.

“Not great,” she finally admitted once she had finished menacing her tall boyfriend. She pulled a chair up beside Harry and leaned against his shoulder, “He wasn't even there when I arrived. I was knocking for what had to be at least half an hour before he came out of the Forest.” Ron groaned, and Harry couldn't blame him. “He wouldn't even tell me what he had planned. Just said he wanted them to be a surprise. I don't think he listened to half of what I was saying. He's been a bit... off, since he came back,” she admitted quietly, sadly.

“The one time Hagrid successfully keeps a secret,” Harry mused dourly.

She snorted and nudged him, “That's horrible. True, but horrible. Oh, I hope this doesn't go badly. He kept saying that there was no way anyone would want to learn about knarls instead of chimeras, no matter what I tried to tell him.”

Harry wrapped an arm around her, “We just have to wait the year out. Then she'll be gone. And if Hagrid ends up being suspended, Dumbledore can just bring him back next year.” It was awful, but at least they knew nothing she had decided would remain permanent. Trelawney was on probation but she was still teaching. They knew Hagrid would be fine. Even if he was suspended as a teacher, he would continue on as a groundskeeper and they could keep seeing him. Maybe they could stage rebellion lessons with him like they had with the DA. Harry snickered and suggested it to the others which while immediately lifting their moods, also left a bit of a guilty twist in their stomachs. Many students, themselves included, actually preferred Professor Grubby-Plank's lessons, and not without good reason: Grubby-Plank's idea of an interesting class was not one where there was a risk that somebody might get a little light mauling.

Their first Care lesson was on Tuesday, and it was with great trepidation that they bundled themselves up warm, filled jamjars with bluebell flames, tucked them into their pockets, and made their way down. Girding their loins against the lesson to come, as well as the cold of being outside in the snow during late November for a lesson with the Slytherins.

Hagrid stood waiting for them at the edge of the forest, his face even more frighteningly bruised than before when they saw him in the Great Hall the day of the Howler. Harry was confused and more than a little alarmed. Hagrid was built like a tank, and wrestled hippogriffs with ease. There wasn't much that could bruise him. But here he was looking like.... like an abused housewife or something. On top of that, he stood with what looked like half a dead cow over his shoulder, carrying it as though it were no more hefty than a school backpack.

“We're workin' in here today!” he called happily to the approaching students, jerking his head back at the dark trees behind him. “Bit more sheltered! Anyway, they prefer the dark.”

“What prefers the dark?” Malfoy demanded sharply to his housemates, a trace of panic in his voice. “What did he say prefers the dark – did you hear?”

“Try actually listening,” he suggested snidely, “maybe you won't get mauled this time.”

Anything Malfoy could have said was cut off as Hagrid called out to them all. “Ready? Right, well, I've bin savin' a trip inter the Forest fer yer fifth year. Thought we'd go an' see these creatures in their natural habitat. Now, what we're studying today is pretty rare, I reckon I'm probably the on'y person in Britain who's managed ter train 'em.”

“And you're sure they're trained, are you?” Malfoy demanded, the panic in his voice much more pronounced now. “Only it wouldn't be the first time you'd brought wild stuff to class, would it?”

The Slytherins murmured in agreement and a few Gryffindors looked as though they thought Malfoy had a fair point, too. Harry rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt.

“Just because you're too stupid to follow basic instructions doesn't mean the rest of us are,” he pointed out coolly. The blond went brilliantly pink, and Ron snickered into his scarf.

“If they're so trained, when what happened to his face?” he demanded, pointing to Hagrid who scowled.

“Mind yer own business. Now, if yeh've finished askin' stupid questions, follow me!” He turned and strode straight into the Forest. No one seemed much interested in following him, at least until Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sighed in disgust at them and marched in. They walked for about ten minutes, stepping over twisted gnarled roots, dodging briar patches and brambles buried in the snow waiting to trip any unwary travellers. No wonder Ratonhnhake:ton travelled via the trees during the heavy snows – trying to do this by foot was dangerous when you couldn't see where you were putting them in the white.

Eventually they reached a place where the trees stood so closely together that it was as dark as twilight and there was no snow at all on the ground. Just some frozen twigs and a whole lot of pine needles. Hagrid grunted as he dropped the cow on the ground, stepping back and then turning to the rest of them, most of whom were creeping from tree to tree towards him, ready to retreat behind them at the first sign of trouble.

“Gather roun', gather roun',” he encouraged, gesturing them all closer. “Now, they'll be attracted by the smell o' the meat but I'm goin' ter give 'em a call anyway, 'cause they'll like ter know it's me.”

This was far from encouraging for Harry and Ron who were becoming increasingly concerned about the chances of a reunion with one of Aragog's offspring. They tensed, and Harry could feel his eyes beginning to itch again, as Hagrid turned and gave an odd, shrieking cry that echoed all around them, bouncing off the tree trunks and warping, sounding like some kind of monstrous bird. No one laughed. They were all too scared to make a sound. Even Malfoy who was huddled behind his two boulder-like bodyguards, knuckles white on Crabbe's shoulder.

He gave the cry again, and a minute passed in tense anxious silence. Everyone looking around with increasing terror. Harry's eyes were itching so hard that they were beginning to water, but he didn't want to rub them just in case he needed to go for his wand.

It was as he gave the third cry that Harry saw it, a faint pale glimmer in the trees. A pair of white, shining eyes were drawing closer before a dragonish face, neck, and then skeletal body of a great, black, winged horse emerged from the darkness. He puffed a short breath and nudged Ron, nodding to it as it observed the class for a few seconds, swishing its long black tail as it crept closer towards the cow, and then bowed its head and began to tear flesh from the corpse with pointed fangs.

Lavender 'ewww'ed in disgust while Pavarti eyed it with interest, “I didn't know you got winged horses like that,” she said.

“Looks like something outta Lord of the Rings,” Dean commented with a grin, making Hermione giggle.

“Something a Nazgul would ride, right?”

“Right!”

It quickly became apparent that not everyone could see them. Seamus was staring at them like they had all gone mad, and most of the Slytherins were sneering at them in confusion and disgust – except for a stringy boy standing just behind Goyle, watching the horse eat with an expression of great distaste on his face, and a black boy next to Millicent Bullstrode who was doing his best to pretend he saw nothing.

“Oh, an' here comes another one!” Hagrid said proudly as a second black horse slinked out of the darkness, twitching its wings and beginning to feast as well. “Now.... put yer hands up, who can see 'em?”

Excepting Seamus, everyone in Gryffindor raised their hands, making Hagrid blink in shock.

“Excuse me,” Malfoy sneered, “but what exactly are we supposed to be seeing?”

For an answer, Hagrid pointed at the cow carcass on the ground. The Slytherins stared at it for a few seconds, and then Pansy shrieked, jumping backwards in horror. He supposed he could understand. Seeing flesh rip itself off and then vanish into thin air must look positively ghoulish.

“What is it?! What is it?!” she cried, grabbing hold of Malfoy and cringing away from it.

“Thestrals,” Hagrid declared proudly, and Hermione gave a soft ' _oh!_ ' of comprehension. “Hogwarts has got a whole herd of 'em in here. Now, who knows why some o' yeh can see 'em an' some of yeh can't?” he asked, giving the Gryffindor students wary looks.

Hermione raised her hand.

“Go on then” Hagrid said, beaming at her.

“The only people who can see Thestrals.... are people who have seen death.”

“Tha's exactly right,” he agreed solemnly, “ten points ter Gryffindor. Now, thestrals – ”

“ _hem, hem._ ”

Harry closed his eyes, and immediately felt his blood pressure spike. He finally gave into the urge to rub his eyes because, _god fucking damnit_. Just once, just _once_ , could she not fuck everything up? Please? He felt both Hermione and Ron tense next to him as Umbridge coughed a second time, catching Hagrid's attention.

“You received the note I sent to your cabin this morning?” she asked, weirdly loud and slow, as though she were talking to someone who didn't know English, or was particularly dim. “Telling you that I would be inspecting your lesson?” Harry immediately felt himself bristling at the tone. It was the same one Aunt Petunia used when speaking to the Athwals' from down the road, the nice Sikh family that once let Harry stay the afternoon with them when they found that he had 'accidentally' locked himself out while running to the shops while Aunt Petunia was out.

Hagrid smiled, clearly not noticing the treatment for what it was. He always did try to see the best in people, Harry remembered, feeling his hackles rise. “Oh yeah. Glad yeh found the place all righ'! Well, as you can see, or, I dunno, can you? We're doin' thestrals today – ”

“I'm sorry?” Madam Umbridge said loudly, cupping her hand around her ear and frowning. “What did you say?”

Hagrid just looked confused. “Er – _thestrals!_ ” he said loudly. “ Big – er – winged horses, yeh know.” He flapped his gigantic arms hopefully. And Umbridge raised her eyebrows at him and muttered as she made a note on her clipboard: “ _Has... to... resort... to... crude... sign... language._ ”

He went pink, and quickly turned back to the class looking flustered. “Well, anyway. Erm. What was I sayin'?”

“ _Appears... to... have... poor... short... term... memory_ ,” Umbridge commented, loudly enough to be heard by the whole class. Hermione took a step forward only to have both Harry and Ron grab her arms and reel her back before she did something that everyone was going to regret, her face bright red with rage. Malfoy looked like Christmas had come a month early, gleefully lighting up with malicious amusement.

“Oh yeah,” Hagrid said, throwing an uneasy glance at Umbridge's clipboard before ploughing on. “Yeah, I was gonna tell yeh how we come we got a herd. Yeah, so, we started off with a male an' five females. This one,” he patted the first of them to appear who was now nosing around his pockets in search of anything else good to eat. “name o' Tenebrus, he's my special favourite, firs' one born here in the Forest – ”

“Are you aware,” Umbridge said loudly, interrupting him “that the Ministry of Magic has classified Thestrals as 'dangerous'?”

Harry dropped his head onto Hermione's shoulder, feeling his heart sinking like a stone.

“Thestrals aren' dangerous!” Hagrid laughed. “All righ' they might take a bite outta yeh if yeh really annoy them – ”

“ _Shows... signs... of... pleasure... at... idea... of... violence._ ”

“No – come on! I mean, a dog'll bite if yeh bait it, won't it – but thestrals just got a bad reputation because o' the death thing – people used ter think they were bad omens, didn' they? Jus didn' understand, did they?”

Umbridge didn't answer; she finished writing her last note, then looked up at Hagrid, and again, in that _same fucking tone of voice_ , said: “Please continue teaching as usual. I am going to talk,” she mimed walking, “among the students,” she pointed to several of them, “and ask them questions.” She pointed at her mouth, and Hagrid stared at her in complete bewilderment.

Hermione was shaking under his hands. “You vile evil _hag of a BITCH!_ ” she exploded, making several of the students jump as if burnt, and back away sharpish. The thestrals gave strange bleating calls and scattered, vanishing back into the darkness. “I know what you're doing, you awful, twisted, _vicious cow!_ ” the Gryffindor seethed, twisting her arms out of Harry and Ron's grasp, marching forward.

“Hermione!” Harry and Ron called.

“Don't interrupt!” she barked, barely glancing over her shoulder before she was out, finger jabbing into the smaller witch's shoulder, looming over the stunned Ministry worker. “Don't think I don't see right through you, you reprehensible troll of a woman! Don't even try to deny it, you utter hag! Trying to make out that he's some kind of dim-wit just because his mother was a giantess!”

“Tha's enough!” Hagrid said loudly.

“No!” Hermione screamed shrilly. “People like her are scum!”

“ _How dare you! I am Senior Under-Secretary to the Minister of Magic!_ ” Umbridge shrieked, swelling up in all her toady glory.

“And how many arseholes did you firmly insert your _tongue_ before you got _that_ role, you insipid wretch?” the muggleborn fired back. “You're pathetic, you don't know _anything –_ ”

“ – _WILL NOT BE DISRESPECTED –_ ”

“ – PATHETIC CLOSE MINDED RACIST BELIEFS THAT HAVE HELD EVERYONE – ”

“ – _THE MINISTER WILL HEAR ABOUT THIS! I WILL RUIN YOU, YOU –_ ”

Hagrid looked horrified, unsure of how to interject as the two stood there screaming in each other's faces, the Slytherins watching in open mouthed horror and confusion while the Gryffindors had begun to nod and agree with their housemate. Ron and Harry however kept their eyes trained on Umbridge, waiting for the moment she pulled her wand.

“ – _NEVER! YOU WON'T BE FIT FOR ELF WORK BY THE TIME I'M FINISHED WITH YOU –_ ”

“ – TREE TIRELESSLY PRODUCING OXYGEN OUT THERE, AND SOMEDAY YOU'RE GOING TO HAVE TO APOLOGISE – ”

Umbridge moved, and they were ready for it.

Chaos broke out in the clearing as multiple voices rang out.

Ron tackled Hermione into the snow, out of the way. Harry lashed a Disarming Charm faster than Umbridge could finish screaming her spell, yanking her wand from her fingers and launching her backwards and into a tree.

Hagrid bellowed something and several of the Slytherins panicked and pulled their wands. The Gryffindors pulled their own, thinking they were being attacked. And suddenly the air was full of spellfire.

The difference in the two houses was never more apparent than in that moment.

Harry's DA were amazing, and it was in a single exchange that all the Slytherins were Disarmed.

“THA'S ENOUGH!!” Hagrid roared, “STAN' DOWN ALL O' YEH! RIGH' NOW, OR I'LL HAVE YEH IN DETENTION WITH ME TENDIN' TER THE GRINDYLOWS IN THE LAKE!”

Everyone stopped.

He stomped forward and dragged both Ron and Hermione out of the snow. “Detention, Hermione. No excuses,” he grunted, frowning at the damp young woman with disappointment. She lifted her chin, scowling. “An' fifty points from Gryffindor,” he finished heavily before stomping over to where Umbridge was crumpled at the base of the tree. Unconscious. He scooped her up gently. “Back ter the castle, all o' yeh. An' make no mistake, I'll be talkin' ter yer heads o' house 'bout this. Git,” he commanded.

They got.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Hermione has ended up a lot more fiery than I anticipated XDDD;;; Poor Hagrid. He just wanted to show off his horsies.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Listen to me, girl, you have castles inside your bones, coronets in your heart, if he threatens you with battle, you raise him a whole war, the last time I checked, Queens cower before no man.” –Nikita Gill

“This is the third time that woman has tried to attack one of us!” Hermione snarled, mid-argument with Professor McGonagall. They had followed Hagrid up to the school and into the Hospital Wing where Umbridge was looked at and pronounced fine aside from a nasty lump and a concussion. She was firmly unconscious and that wasn't looking to change while Madam Pomfrey was refusing to use magic on a headwound of that nature. It had with stiff silence that Hagrid then escorted them up to Professor McGonagall and left them in her hands.

“If defending ourselves suddenly against school rules?! Should we let Death Eaters curse us in the halls now?!” she demanded, growing shrill with anger.

“That is not the same thing, you foolish girl!” Professor McGonagall cried harshly, frayed to the end of her rope.

“It's exactly the same thing! Just because that bitch doesn't have – ”

“ – Ministry official! There are severe repercussions – ”

“ – won't stand there while she's spouting the same thing as – ”

“ _I CAN'T PROTECT YOU!_ ” McGonagall roared, leaping to her feet and slamming both of her hands down on her desk, chair flying backwards to clatter harshly in the suddenly silent room. They gaped at her. “With the Ministry in its current state, I can't protect you from her! From _them_! Headmaster Dumbledore has _already_ lost his position as Supreme Mugwump of the Wizengmot. If this goes to trial, being expelled will be the least of your worries, Miss Granger! You could end up in Azkaban as a muggleborn!” she cried, chest heaving with emotion before she jerked a hand, her chair righting itself as she sank into it, covering her eyes with a trembling hand. “Any attempt to speak out against her carries the risk of replacement with another Ministry Official. And that puts all of you at further risk.”

“Then arrest _her_ ,” Harry suggested, making her look up in disbelief. He looked her in the eye. “This is the third time she's drawn her wand with the intention of harming a Hogwarts student. In front of witnesses at that. Students and teachers both. She wasn't defending herself on any of those occasions. I had my back to her and was walking away the first time, the second I was sat down working in the library, I wasn't even looking at her. Hermione might have been shouting at her, but she hadn't drawn her wand, or raised her fist. If she can try to have us expelled or arrested for defending ourselves, then I want to get in there first and have _her_ arrested for assault.”

“If we work quickly, we can have Kingsley get on it and use Veritaserum. No way she can twist that to suit her own ends,” Ron suggested from his otherside.

“Challenging the Ministry – ” McGonagall trailed off weakly, beginning to try and talk them out of it but unable to find the words.

“And as a good Auror, he'd definitely use the opportunity to ask about the tragic murder of Cedric Diggory last year while I'm under the influence,” Harry added on, ignoring his Head of House as he looked excitedly at Ron. Genius. He could have kissed him. He should kiss him. Later.

“As soon as you mention Pettigrew he's going to have to ask about Sirius as head of the taskforce hunting him down! We could have him cleared of all charges at the same time!” Hermione enthused, grabbing Harry's hand excitedly, knowing how much it would mean to him. If Sirius was cleared, then there was no need for Harry to stay at the Dursleys. Dumbledore could spout off about the Blood Wards, but if they were so great why didn't the Order move into Number 4 instead?

“It would name and shame all the Death Eaters too! Completely gut his Inner Circle if they get the arrests out before they can warn each other!” Ron exclaimed eagerly before all three of them turned to Professor McGonagall for her opinion.

She was staring at them as if seeing them for the first time, a strange expression on her face that none of them could read.

“There is no guarantee it will happen that easily,” she warned. “You could very well end up on the run like Sirius.” When none of them reacted, she nodded slowly and heaved herself to her feet. “...No matter what happens... I want you three to know I am proud of you.”

She really thought this was going to blow up on them. Well. Not if they had anything to say about it. The Ministry could try to bury it, but they had an ace in the hole that would prevent that.

“Hermione.... think Rita would be interested in what's to be said here?” Harry asked quietly. She nodded.

“Definitely,” Ron muttered as Professor McGonagall threw a handful of powder into her fireplace and knelt down to stick her head in.

“Dobby!” Harry called the second her head vanished. Hermione dove for quill and parchment as the elf popped into the room. “Sorry, no time to explain. Can you deliver the message Hermione's writing to Rita Skeeter? If she agrees, tell her to transform and bring her back here, invisible.”

“Dobby will, Harry Potter sir,” the elf told him solemnly, accepting the hastily scrawled note from Hermione, and vanished with a pop just as Professor McGonagall withdrew her head from the fire, and the flames flared higher as two men stepped out of the fireplace. The familiar tall form of Kingsley Shacklebolt, cutting a very intimidating figure in his blood-red auror robes, and an unknown hard faced man with brown hair, a severe facial expression, and a very neatly cut beard.

“So,” Kingsley began, “What's this I hear about an assault?” he asked, looking between the three of them and Professor McGonagall.

She sighed, “Earlier today during the fifth year Care of Magical Creatures class an argument broke out between a student and Madam Umbridge. One that resulted in Madam Umbridge drawing her _wand_ with the intent to cause that student harm. This is the _third_ time this has happened within the week, and the students in question want to press charges.”

“Do they indeed?” the unknown Auror asked, his accent placing him from somewhere in the mid-lands to Harry's inexperienced ear.

“We do, indeed,” he told the auror quietly, feeling his eyes beginning to itch again as he tried to get a measure of him, whether or not he was a toady or someone that could be trusted.

Kingsley nodded thoughtfully, “Alright. We can interview and see if the situation warrents it. I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to stick around, Professor McGonagall, as the Deputy Headmistress you have guardianship rights over them in lieu of their parents. Procedure when interviewing underage witches and wizards, I'm sure you understand,” he said as he rummaged a notebook and quill from his robes.

She nodded, “Of course. I would have insisted regardless,” she declared primly, conjuring him a table to lay them out on.

There was a soft double pop as she did so and Harry felt a small hand on his arm. Dobby was back. Harry heard a faint buzz next to his ear and could only assume that meant Rita had come with him.

Kingsley set the quill up. “November twenty third, nineteen ninety five, stop. Reporting Aurors: Kingsley Shacklebolt,” he listed carefully to the quill as it zoomed across the parchment scroll.

“And Tiberius Simpkins, stop,” the second auror declared.

“Incident number Eleven-Gryphon-Three, stop. Code Red-Mandrake-Eleven, stop. Three underage Hogwarts students reporting multiple attempted assaults from Ministry sanctioned faculty member, Delores Jane Umbridge, Hogwarts High Inquisitor, stop. Deputy Headmistress, Professor Minerva McGonagall, in attendance as acting Guardian and interview witness, stop. For the purposes of our records and the quill enchantments, could you please state your full name, Professor McGonagall, stop?”

“Minerva McGonagall,” she announced crisply.

Kingsley nodded when the quill transcript correctly registered her name to her voice.

“In the interests of underage anonymity, you will be referred to as Student A,” Simpkins announced, pointing to Harry. “Student B,” Ron. “And Student C,” Hermione. “Please state your designation, Student A, for the purpose of the quill, stop.”

“Student A.”

“Please state your designation, Student B, for the purpose of the quill, stop.”

“Student B.”

"Please state your designation, Student C, for the purpose of the quill, stop.”

“Student C.”

“Quill is working without issue, all parties present have been noted by the quill, stop. Commencing official interview Eleven-Gryphon-Three at three forty four in the afternoon, stop.” Kingsley conjured himself a chair and sat down, giving them an encouraging smile. “As you probably gathered from the quill calibration, I am Auror Shacklebolt, this is Auror Simpkins. I must ask you not to refer to each other by name during this interview as we want to keep the records as pristine as possible. Now. Professor McGonagall tells me there has been some altercations with Madam Umbridge. What can you tell me about that?”

They looked between each other before turning to Harry who grimaced.

“She has drawn her wand on no less than three occasions in the last seven days with the intent to cause myself or one of my friends harm,” he explained quietly. “All three incidents have had multiple witnesses, not just students but teachers too. The first time was breakfast, two days ago during the walk out.”

Kingsley held a hand up. “Can you explain what you mean by 'walk out'?” he asked.

Hermione leaned forward, “No one in Hogwarts is happy with her class. Not only is she refusing to let us use practical applications of magic, but the text book she's assigned is thirty years out of date, and her lessons consist of reading a chapter and listening to her lecture us about how the Ministry is keeping everyone safe and sound and nothing bad ever happens ever as long as we listen to her – disregarding the fact that Fenrir Greyback attacked a family outside Glasgow only a month ago and is still at large, that trolls have gotten into the school, that there are Grindylows in the lake, boggarts, poltergeists, that there was a Death Eater impersonating a teacher last year, and the Dementors that the Ministry themselves assigned to the school as protection attacked everyone during a Quidditch march! One of the players nearly died coming off their broom!” she ranted heatedly, and very fast, barely pausing to draw breath and causing the aurors to exchange wary looks.

“So say nothing about her idea of tetention,” Ron added darkly, reaching over and grabbing Harry's right hand to show them the words carved into his flesh.

“Let it be known Student B is showing the back of Student A's hand,” Kingsley said solemnly, “It has been deeply etched by a blood quill, almost to the bone.” He took a breath before leaning forward, “Please continue. What happened with the walk out, how did that lead Madam Umbridge into drawing her wand?”

“It was a protest,” Harry admitted, “The only one we thought would work. We made an announcement about how unhappy with the level of education we were receiving from her, and said that none of us would be attending her lessons, or listening to her educational decrees, or serving detention with her. And then everyone got up as one and walked out. She got angry and started screaming at us. I was the last one out and she fired a spell at me. If Professor Dumbledore hadn't yanked her wand out of her hand it would have hit me.”

“You mean she actually fired a spell at you as you had your back turned?” Auror Simpkins demanded.

Harry nodded, “Yes. It stuck the doorframe of the Great Hall.”

“And you know she was aiming at you specifically?” he asked.

“Yes. I waited for everyone to leave first before following after them. I was the only student apart from several from Slytherin House still present in the Great Hall when she attacked,” he explained, feeling Ron squeeze his hand, he still hadn't let go.

“How do you know it was her specifically if your back was turned?” Kingsley asked carefully.

“Because Professor Dumbledore shouted her name. He sounded pretty furious. And then the spell whizzed past me. Doesn't really take a genius to figure out that she lost her temper and threw a spell at me because no one would listen to her anymore,” he explained, squeezing Ron's hand back.

Kingsley nodded, “Alright. And the second incident?”

“The next day during our Defence timeslot,” Hermione explained. “We had gone to the library instead of her lessons. None of us want to set foot in her classroom again, her lessons are a joke and I'm not ruining my OWL score for her ego. We were studying quietly when she stormed over and demanded we go to class. She took points and assigned detention. H- Student A flatly refused to go, and told her that he didn't respect her because she hadn't earnt it. She drew her wand and that was when Madam Pince the librarian snatched it and banished her from the library for shouting and trying to cast spells in a no-magic zone.”

“So you goaded her?” Simpkins demanded, looking at Harry. It was weird, he didn't have that same boiling feeling that Umbridge had, but he also didn't feel calm or soothing like Kingsley. He just... was. A bit flavourless in all honesty. _Neutral_.

“No. I was polite until she lowered the tone. I only treated her the way she treated me,” Harry stated quietly but firmly, looking him in the eye. “I'm tired of people treating me like rubbish because it suits them.”

“And the third incident, that was today, yes?” Kingsley asked, looking between them.

“Yeah,” Ron grunted, hunching in his place. “We were covering thestrals in Care of Magical Creatures. She came to inspect Hagrid – I mean, Professor Hagrid's class. Only – ”

“That racist _bitch_ started actively twisting everything and insulting Hagrid's intelligence for no other reason than the fact his mother was a giantess,” Hermione growled. “So I told her _exactly_ what I thought of her and her methods. That she was a bloody troll and a stain on the name of education, that some day she was going to have to stand in front of whatever powers that be and justify her pathetic existence and the air _wasted_ on her foul backwards beliefs.”

“R- Student B and I hung back, keeping an eye on her. Professor Hagrid tried to stop them from arguing but they were screaming full pelt in each other's faces. And then Madam Umbridge raised her wand again. Student B tackled H- erm, Student C into the snow, and I used the Disarming Charm on Madam Umbridge,” Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his head.

“The Disarming Charm, huh?” Simpkins asked. Harry nodded, and Kingsley had the quill note it. “And where is Madam Umbridge now?” he asked.

He didn't want to answer but.... “The hospital wing,” he admitted slowly, the two aurors looking at him suddenly. “She hit a tree. Madam Pomfrey says its just a concussion.”

“ _Just_ a concussion?” Simpkins echoes, eyebrows raised.

Harry frowned at him, and remembered that they were trying to angle for Kingsley to use Veritaserum so they could try and clear Sirius and implicate the Death Eaters in the process. “I'll take veritaserum if you don't believe me,” he suggested pointedly.

“That won't be necessary,” Kingsley informed him bluntly, “and is, in fact, illegal without official writ from the Wizengmot authorising its use. However, given the information present, I believe there is cause for investigation.”

Well.

It wasn't freeing Sirius, but it was definitely something towards getting rid of Delores Umbridge.

He would call that a victory.

 

* * *

 

“ _You WHAT?!_ ”

Neville cowered, Fred and George cringing beside him as Harry loomed.

“I panicked! I – I didn't want them to take you away so – I thought that if she just _never woke up_ – ” he trailed off fearfully, and Harry wanted to smack his head into the nearest wall. In fact, he didn't know why he wasn't. He turned on heel and strode to the wall separating the main hall from the lake in the Room of Requirement and stared to bang his forehead against it.

Ron slid a hand between him and the wall, “Please stop damaging the goods. I'm invested in them,” he quipped even as he eyed the trio in front of him like some kind of exotic species of _flaming idiot!_

Harry groaned and didn't move, keeping his forehead against Ron's hand. “Why did I agree to do this, Ron? Why did I think this would be a good idea? Can we use the timeturner to go back and kick me in the fucking head?” he whined.

The red head snorted, “Stop being so melodramatic.”

“No. I don't get to do it often, let me have this.”

Hermione however looked like Christmas had come early, “You're all geniuses!” she crowed, practically dancing.

“No! No they aren't! Because the second those aurors get a whiff of what they've done, that's all three of us buggered!” Harry exclaimed, yanking himself away from Ron to flail at her.

“But this way she's _out_ of the way! And we didn't even have to kill her!” the girl gushed happily. “No one will think twice about it! She's alive, everyone saw her head hit the tree, and it was a _clear_ case of self-defence! They'll think she's just fallen into a coma, or gotten brain damage. It's _genius!_ ”

Harry could have ripped his hair out, “Any Healer worth their robes is going to know she's under Draught of the Living Death the second they examine her!” he howled.

“Um,” Neville interrupted, “Actually no. They won't,” he corrected, shuffling in place. “Only a Potion's Master would be able to, and even then, only within a week of being dosed. Healers only perform basic scans once diagnosis has been made. They don't check deeper unless there's been a change in her circumstances. Unless they have reason to be really suspicious of Madam Pomfrey, they won't check again.”

Harry remembered then that Neville likely spent a lot of time around healers, his parents still alive, and not doing very well at all. He scrubbed both hands through his hair in helpless frustration, now understanding Professor McGonagall's frustration with them earlier all the more and wishing to go back to her and apologise right now for the grey hair and stomach ulcers they had undoubtedly given her over the years, holy shit. She was getting the nicest Christmas gift he could think of as soon as he got the chance to find her something.

“I didn't want you to get arrested,” Neville justified quietly. “They would have thrown you in Azkaban, and it – the way you react to Dementors, Harry – it would have driven you mad, or killed you.”

He sighed deeply.

Neville was right. Azkaban was literally a death sentence for him given his memories and past traumas, not to mention the fascination the Dementors had for him – his cell would have to be guarded almost all the time to stop the floating corpses from giving him the Kiss 'accidentally'. And he meant 'accidentally', because it wouldn't surprise him if someone in the Ministry, Malfoy or another one of Voldemort's patsies, slipped the order in for a few pieces of gold.

“If they'd have tried, we would just hide in here,” Ron assured him with a grin. “Unless they know this school as well as us, there's no way they'd find us.”

“Uh, you mean as well as _us_ ,” Fred interjected with a superior sniff.

Ron arched a mocking eyebrow at him, “Oh? So you knew about this Room already, huh?” he asked lightly, making his brothers scowl at him. They argued that yes, they did, but they thought it was just a randomly appearing broom cupboard. “Oh, okay. So. Either of you been into the Chamber of Secrets? Or into the centre of the Forbidden Forest? Or the bottom of the lake into the mermaid village? How about Slytherin Common Room?” he continued with relish.

The twins began to look mutinous, clearly not appreciating the fact that their little brother had something over them.

Harry kicked Ron's legs out from under him, “Stop teasing them, Ron. And you two, don't you dare go trying to explore the Forest. We found spiders bigger than the Ford Anglia in there, don't risk it. I am _not_ exaggerating,” he warned them with a grimace. “That rumour in our Care texts about a nest of acromantula? Not a rumour. Hagrid rescued one when he was a student and let it loose in the forest. Even got it a mate and everything.”

They looked properly horrified. “Acromantula _eat people!_ ” George exclaimed. “What's a bloody nest of those things doing near a school?!”

Harry shrugged, “I reckon we're the only people who know about it. Sirius and Remus might, but they've never mentioned it,” he admitted with a shrug. Maybe.... he gave it some thought. Maybe.... _they_ could do something about it. It would break Hagrid's heart, but, George had a point. They couldn't leave that nest there. As soon as Aragog actually died, those awful beasties would be attacking anyone they could get their fangs into. Centaurs, students, unicorns, maybe even Hagrid himself – he spent so long in the forest that it would be easy for them to snap him up and it would take days for anyone to actually notice. And... maybe if they cleared the hollow out where they nested, it would give the centaurs more space, and make them look a little more kindly upon any students who might wander accidentally into their space. There was no way they could do anything about it _yet_ , but it was something to remember for the future. They were going to become assassins. Harry didn't particularly want their first kills to be people, to be the parents of people they actually went to school with. The acromantula were actually ideal, thinking about it. Not even Hannah Abbott, arguably the sweetest and least violent of them all, would have a problem with exterminating an eight foot spider.

Ron yanked him down into his lap, banding his arms around him and burying his face into the side of Harry's neck, making the smaller Gryffindor squawk and flail as he lost his balance, and his train of thought.

“I can hear the poor Jarvey in there working itself to death. Give it a break tonight, Harry. Umbridge is out for the count, Hagrid's job is safe, the boycott is a success, and we might even get the bitch arrested! It's a win-win day!” the red head exclaimed happily, planting sloppy kisses up the side of his neck and under his ear.

Harry spluttered and shoved a hand against his face, “We ruined Hagrid's special class, nearly got arrested, gave McGonagall stomach ulcers, and – ”

Ron kissed him on the lips. “But nothing,” he refused, grinning. “We can go and apologise to Hagrid later, but everything else was fine! It was a good day.”

Hermione knelt down in front of them, planting a kiss of her own onto Harry's forehead, “Yep! I finally got to tell that hag what I really thought of her!” She inhaled deeply, smiling beatifically. “That was so satisfying.”

The black haired Gryffindor laughed a little weakly, “You told her that she was going to have to apologise to a tree for breathing the air it made just to say the things she comes out with.”

She nodded beaming. “Satisfying,” she repeated with relish.

“Um...” Neville trailed off, eyes wide, staring at the three of them. At Ron, sat cross-legged with his arms wrapped around Harry's waist; Harry sat back to chest in Ron's lap; Hermione knelt in front of them between Harry's legs, her hands on Ron's thighs as she bent over them both. Harry tensed up a bit, and Ron pointedly pulled him closer and rested his chin on his shoulder, nuzzling the side of his head as he watched their housemate with lidded eyes.

Neville swallowed. “The others will be getting here soon. Should I put my robe on, or are we doing magic today?” he asked instead of commenting on the three of them being together. Harry relaxed a bit.

“I was thinking we could do both tonight. Let everyone run the poles for a little bit before drying off and trying some magic. I thought we could begin Shield Charms today, and practice some more on the Patronus Charm,” he suggested, squirming between his boyfriend and girlfriend as they pressed in even more tightly, possessively.

The brunet nodded and quickly moved away to the changing rooms.

Harry nudged them both, “Don't be mean to Neville,” he told them reprimandingly, and Hermione made a weird noise in the back of her throat before looking at him and then squinting.

She opened her mouth to say something only to look at Ron in sheer disbelief, “He never noticed,” she stated.

Ron shook his head, “Nope. Not once,” he agreed.

“Wow. No wonder you said we had to be up-front,” she mused, making Harry scowl. He was ninety percent sure they were talking about him, but he didn't know what about or why. She kissed him, and then leaned up past him to kiss Ron and, oh, that.... that was nice to watch, he realised with a blush, and then quickly looked down.

He wriggled and pushed at one of Ron's arms, making it move, and then slithered out from between the two. “You carry on. I want to get changed ready for when people arrive,” he told them as their girlfriend toppled into their boyfriend, and then pouted up at him for running away.

He grinned and escaped before either of them could drag him back in.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very nearly didn't get this out today. Peeps probably don't know but, I actually finish with my current job this Friday. Hand my ID badge in, sign my secret squirrel papers, and off I go into the sunset. Sadly though, one of my colleagues doesn't work Fridays, so in order not to leave her out of my planned cream-cake celebration of getting the fuck out of there, I decided to do it tomorrow. Which meant shopping tonight. And the buses are awful at rush-hour. So yeah. Very lucky with this. And it's well past my bed time. Gimme something good to read when I wake up. Your comments are super motivating XDDD I like hearing from you tbh.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But boyhood dreams die hard, I discovered, and good sense be damned.” –Jon Krakauer (Into Thin Air)

December rolled in bringing with it another several feet of snow, icicles forming in the window frames of the corridors and from the leaky taps in the bathrooms, and the return of multiple jumpers beneath their uniforms and wintercloaks draped over their legs in class. Ron and Hermione's prefect duties also became more and more distracting as Christmas approached, the two of them often being called away to assist with the decorating of the castle, watch over the first and second years spending their break-times inside because of the bitter cold, and to patrol the corridors in shifts with Filch who suspended that the holiday spirit might show itself in an outbreak of duels. Ron had a great deal of nasty things to say and complain about when it came to their increase of responsibility, often times coming in and grumpily picking Harry up and wrapping himself around him like a teddybear or just dropping down and burying his face into his stomach and demanding affection as a reward for not cursing someone. Hermione was of like mind, complaining that there was too much to do to be fussing over Prefect duties even as she shoved at Ron to make space for her in their cuddle pile.

The only thing they didn't have to worry about was homework, thankfully.

With Umbridge still unconscious in the Hospital Wing, her lessons had been taken over by the other faculty members whenever one of them was free. It resulted in some hilariously poor lessons where the likes of Professor Trelawney tried to advise them on how best to avoid danger when all of her advice seemed to boil down to 'I don't know because I can See it coming but I imagine something like this may apply'. With their professors trying to wrangle the DADA course between them, they had opted against homework as it would only increase their work loads, and thus everyone received an easy December.

Everyone except them, and the Slytherins.

With Umbridge no longer an issue, the DA had come out of hiding as it were. No longer hiding the inter-house friendships that had formed between their members it now became a common sight to see fifth years intermingling without issue. It freaked the Slytherins out something rotten. More so when they were questioned about the incident in Care of Magical Creatures and Hermione _wasn't_ arrested. Then Rita's article about Umbridge attacking students, her stupid educational decrees (forcing male and female students to maintain more than eight inches distance from each other, banning all non-educational related items, all mail to be inspected, forbade broom flight outside quidditch matches, allowed the confiscation of wands, to name a few), her abysmal teaching abilities, the outright rebellion by over three quarters of the entire student body in response to her behaviour, the _torture_ of _Under age witches and wizards_ with _blood quills_ , and the blatant discrimination towards certain houses had the Slytherin students losing their shit. They didn't know what was going on. This wasn't how things were supposed to go – how they usually went.

They practically withdrew entirely, hiding within their Common Room, waiting to see where the dice fell now, because there would be a reply from the Ministry. There had to be. Umbridge was being investigated by the aurors. She was still unconscious and completely unable to eject them from the school and back to the Ministry. Which meant something _had_ to happen since Rita had blown the whole thing out loud across the country.

Sitting back and watching everything go down was incredibly cathartic for Harry. The DA were keeping him updated with the investigation as the aurors went around and interviewed everyone about Umbridge, about the incidents, and even talked to Filch – managing to get him to implicate her further when he was set to howling about how she was going to let him finally put the thumbscrews on the little bastards.

It was... a pleasant change, he decided, as he watched Auror Simpkins recording each of the posted Educational Decrees with an expression bordering disgust with each piece of idiocy he read. Considering the Ministry and his luck, it was a very pleasant surprise that Auror Simpkins wasn't against them purely for the sake of making his life difficult. It had been getting to feel a bit like that lately in all honesty.

Because of the constant revolving door of Professors, and the laughable lessons interspaced with actually decent material, the DA were continuing to come to the Room for supplementary learning. They weren't the only ones either. Harry was having the first years approach him now to ask for extra lessons – a Slytherin boy cornered him away from everyone and asked him to owl him some notes if he had them, if it was alright, he didn't _need_ them, but the last ones were useful and since he had _offered_ last time....

Over half of the DA had gone into the pensieve and watched Altair, Ezio, and Ratonhnhake:ton's memories. Harry had taken the majority of them as Ron and Hermione became bogged down with their prefect duties, watching the Big Three again and again had.... been making things _difficult_ for Harry.

He began to see things. Not like usual, but while he was awake.

His eyes itched worse than ever, and on occasion he would see figures in white robes that _weren't there_. Voices filled his dreams, familiar voices that he personally had never spoken to, languages he had never learned but understood perfectly echoed to him through the hallways and in the Great Hall at breakfast. Sometimes he heard Claudia scolding his table manners. Sometimes Maria would ask if he was sure he didn't want to eat more?

It was strange how red Slytherin looked sometimes. And then he would blink and the haze would vanish and everyone would be in focus again.

He wasn't stupid. He didn't know what the hallucinations were, but he was willing to bet that he was developing some kind of Eagle Vision – Ezio had been able to train himself to see ghosts of the past in his growing age. Arno Dorian could see memories and hear voices. And it was through Evie Frye that he learned the Eagle Vision was something that anyone could learn to utilise with enough time and effort. Though people from the right bloodlines would always find it easier to summon.

He took to trying to work it off. He slept better, without dreams, if he exhausted himself first.

He ran the poles again and again and _again_. Showing the others the multiple ways of crossing. He took to the aerial assault course that so far only Ginny and Angelina had joined him on so far. He flew across it like a bird, or a monkey, exploring the off-shooting corridors that lead to smaller chambers or moving obstacles, or puzzles. Some held murals of familiar items and familiar-unfamiliar symbols describing them. He recognised Kassandra's spear, the Shroud of Eden that Edward and Evie had found, the Apple that Ezio had obtained, there was a staff, a crystal skull, swords, an ankh, crystal balls, tridents, discs, rings, shields, and –

Eventually, in his mad efforts to work himself to exhaustion, he eventually climbed to the very top of the Leap. There were six levels, but the final one was many, _many_ feet higher than the fifth. One through five were to acclimatise a novice to the free fall, to train them for the jump, the fall, the impact. The sixth was, by its definition, a _leap of faith_.

And when Harry got up there, his eyes suddenly _burned_. Burned so much he had to sit down and wait for the pain and the itching to pass.

When he looked up, he saw the blue handholes on the ceiling, saw the crack in the roof, and the faint gold glimmer within.

He climbed.

And found a small circular chamber, empty, save for a mural on the wall. It... was pretty he guessed. If a little... weird.

It was of a woman, a skeletally thin woman with a gaunt smiling face. She was depicted with pitch black hair and eyes, and chalk white skin. She wore a black roman styled dress, and had her arms crossed over her chest to her shoulders, in one hand she clutched a black staff with three orbs set within its length, in her other hand she held a black orb lined in silver not unlike an Apple, flaring from her shoulders was a long silvery cloak. In the background was a river and a broken bridge and a distant golden city.

There was nothing else in the room. No other pictures.

He cannonballed out of the room and into the lake below.

He could show Ron and Hermione the picture later. They would probably have a better idea of who it was than him, Ron having grown up magical, and Hermione just through her voracious reading habits.

He didn't get a chance to though, the holidays snuck up fast and before he knew it he was calling the last DA session before they all broke up. He arrived early to the Room, straight after class, and it was a good thing he had done so – Dobby seemed to have taken it into his head to decorate everything. He loved that elf, he did, but giant golden baulbles featuring his face was not how he wanted the room to be decorated. Chuckling quietly to himself he charmed his face into something more befitting the season, a rosy cheeked smiling Santa Claus instead.

Luna was the first one into the room, looking a little dreaming, and rubbing at her eyes almost absent mindedly. “Hello,” she said vaguely, peering up at the decorations. “Nice charm,” she told him before pointing behind him, “There's mistletoe behind you. You should be careful, they're often infested with Nargles.”

He was saved from asking what that was by the arrival of Angelina, Katie, and Alicia, the three Chasers looking cold and breathless, Katie sporting a bright red nose to compliment her smattering of freckles.

“Well, we've managed to replace you,” Angelina announced, spinning her cloak off and banishing it with a flick of her wand. Harry tilted his head at her in confusion. “You, Fred, George, and Ron. We've got another Seeker.”

“Oh.” He charmed the last baulble. “Who?” he asked curiously, dropping down to land in front of her.

“Ginny Weasley,” Katie answered.

“Hm,” he hummed noncommittally. “She's a good flyer. Needs more practice, but with her training in here, she's the best pick you're going to get in Gryffindor,” he concluded, and the girls relaxed a bit.

“That's what I thought,” Angelina agreed, rolling her shoulders. “She was damn good during try outs. Nothing on you, of course. But we we can't _have_ you...” she trailed off, throwing him a dirty look.

He folded his arms and stared at her, long and steady. Did she blame him for walking away from that fight? Or was she angry that he wasn't more upset about it?

“And the other positions?” he asked mildly, her lips pressed together and she scowled turning away to stomp to the changing rooms.

“Andrew Kirke,” Alicia said without enthusiasm, “and Jack Sloper for beaters. Neither of them are brilliant, but compared to the rest of the idiots that showed up.... We put Geoffrey Hooper in to replace Ron. He's a good flyer, but _god_ , he complains. Constantly. About everything. I think I'll probably end up helping Slytherin clobber him if he doesn't knock it off,” she admitted darkly.

Ron and Hermione arrived then, and Katie told them the 'good' news as Alicia shuffled off to go and get changed too.

Of those who had watched the memories, and managed to pass the poles, they were determined to make the Leap of Faith before they left for the holidays, so while they worked on the second floor walls, Harry had those who wanted to focus on magic practice the stunning charm in the sandpits (no one was allowed to use the aerial course above their heads while this was happening. Until everyone had made the leap, he didn't want clashing practices, even if it would teach them more situational awareness).

Ron and Hermione were the first to make the Leap under their own power, plunging into the lake without hesitation, Ron first and then Hermione only a few minutes later – the red head only beating her out by having greater arm strength to take him up the walls faster.

Almost an hour after them there was another splash, and Angelina dragged herself out of the water, sopping wet but triumphant, her hands shaking violently with adrenaline.

At the nine o'clock mark, the enchanted clock that Ron had brought in went off, and everyone began to pack up. Shuffling into the changing rooms to get back into their normal clothes, leaving their wet robes in baskets to be cleaned and dried later. Ron and Hermione had decided to stay in the baths, leaving Harry to tidy up and join them later at his insistence.

He gave goodbyes and merry christmases to everyone who left, but it wasn't until he heard a hearty sniff that he realised he wasn't actually alone in the room.

He turned, and saw Cho standing in the middle of the room, tears pouring down her face.

“Are you alright?” he asked quickly, alarmed.

She shook her head and wiped her eyes on her sleeve. “I'm – sorry,” she said thickly. “I suppose – it's just – learning all this stuff it – it just makes me wonder whether.... if _he'd_ known it all he might... might still be alive.”

He felt his heart sink down to his stomach. She wanted to talk about Cedric. He... probably should have seen this coming. She had been his girlfriend, and while Harry had shown her everything that had happened in the Third Task, he had actually _been_ there. That was a connection that was probably.... a bit messed up. But it was a connection, and right now, it was probably what she needed. She had been so happy last Christmas, with him, at the Yule Ball.

He sighed heavily, and conjured a handkerchief for her. “He did now this stuff. He was really good at it too, or he never would have gotten to the middle of that maze. But sometimes... sometimes we can know every spell, have all the power in the world, and all it takes is a lucky shot. Usually, when Voldemort really wants you dead, you don't stand a chance.” His parents hadn't. Neville's hadn't. Susan Bones's hadn't. Who knew who else. All those skilled aurors who were _trained_ for fighting in ways that they weren't.

Cho hiccuped at the sound of Voldemort's name, everyone in the DA were getting better about Harry and Hermione saying the name, but it still made them twitch for the most part. “ _You_ survived when you were just a baby,” she pointed out quietly.

“Yeah, well,” he deflected wearily. “I don't know why. No one does. So it's nothing to be proud of. I'm pretty sure it was more my mum's doing than mine.” Harry felt thoroughly miserable now and wanted to go and curl up on Hermione's lap while she bickered with Ron about something stupid and inconsequential but they only argued about because they liked winding each other up. He would have been so pleased with just a 'Merry Christmas' from her. Not – not this. And it felt heartless to think about it when she needed his support right now.

He opened his mouth to apologise to her, but she beat him to it, wiping at her eyes again. “I'm sorry. I know it must be horrible for you. Me mentioning Cedric, after everything that happened in the Graveyard, after showing it to us again and again and again, to everyone. I... I suppose you'd like to forget about it now?” she asked meekly.

He really would. He had lived through it enough times that just thinking about it made him exhausted. But, he felt quite heartless saying it.

“You're a r-really good teacher, you know,” she said, changing tacks with a watery smile. “I've never been able to Stun anything before.”

“Thanks,” he told her awkwardly.

They stood in silence, Cho seemingly waiting for him to say more but... he really didn't know what.

“You worked really hard to get there,” he decided to say.

She made a funny noise between a sob and a laugh before pointing above his head, “Mistletoe.”

He glanced up, remembering what Luna said earlier. “Yeah. It's probably full of Nargles though,” he said, hoping that she would find the Luna-ism amusing enough to stop crying.

She didn't, she was still crying, and he realised now that she was close enough that he could count the freckles on her nose, and all the tears clinging to her eyelashes.

“I really like you, Harry,” she whispered, leaning in.

He slid a hand up between them, feeling his heart hammering in his throat as she pressed her lips to the palm of his hand, and then jerked back, startled when she realised that it was his hand and not his mouth she had just kissed. He too a step back, feeling jittery and uncomfortable, fingers tingling with adrenaline.

“I'm – sorry, Cho. But – I have a – I'm in a – ” he spluttered trying to explain as her expression crumbled like wet tissue.

She shoved past him and ran for the doorway, and he felt _awful_ as it slammed in the suddenly too silent and large room.

 

* * *

 

He did not tell Ron or Hermione about what happened.

When they came out of the baths, he wrapped his arms around Ron and burrowed himself into his chest, ignoring the looks of alarm that the two exchanged over his head, and refusing to answer when they asked him what was wrong. He had seen the way they had been acting towards Cho before, even Neville, if they found out she had attempted to kiss him then he didn't know what they would do. Or if they would be pissed at _him_ for... for leading her on or something? Somehow? He _used_ to have a crush on her, did have a crush on her? He wasn't sure anymore. He was _with_ them now, so, he.... that meant he wasn't allowed to have a crush on her, right? He didn't _want_ to have a crush on her if it meant making them unhappy.

They migrated to the dormitories and the huge pile of cushions, Hermione setting herself up with a long roll of parchment and a quill to write a letter while Ron sprawled out in a mountain of cushions with Harry in his lap. He didn't react to the two as they fell into their usual brand of action, chatting and bickering above his head, save to squeeze Ron a little more tightly and curl into an even tighter ball when his tone got a little sharper at the mention of Hermione still writing to Viktor Krum. He dialled it back down immediately, and sank his fingers into Harry's hair.

He stretched out, his stomach feeling cold as he slid along on his belly in the dark, objects around him shimmering in strange vibrant colours... he turned to the side, spotting an empty – no, a corridor with a man sitting on the floor ahead, his chin drooping on his chest, his outline gleaming in the dark... hidden.

He tasted the man's scent on the air. He was alive, but drowsy, sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor. He wanted to bite him. But he had to master the impulse. There was more important work to be done.

Only, the man was stirring, a silver cloak falling from his legs as he jumped to his feet, and Harry could see his vibrant, blurred outline now towering above him. He drew a wand from his belt and Harry had no choice.

He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm, gush of hot salty blood....

The man howled in pain, striking the top of Harry's head, trying to ward him off, and then he fell silent... he slumped backwards against the wall, blood splattering on the ground, puddling on the floor as he slid sideways, decorating the wall in thick crimson streaks....

His forehead hurt terribly.... it felt as though it were going to _burst_...

“Harry! **HARRY!** ”

He jerked, inhaling sharply enough to choke on it, every inch of body body coated in icy cold sweat, shaking like a leaf, tangled in his robes and a blanket like a straight jacket. It felt like a white-hot poker was digging its way _out_ of his scar, like the pain was under his skin and trying to skewer its way _out_ of him. Ron was on top of him, straddling him and holding his hands down above his head while Hermione cradled his head with cushions, her face twisted in terror.

He gasped, and gagged, Ron jerking backwards just in time to let Harry roll to the side and vomit violently across a pretty powder blue and gold embroidered cushion.

“Harry! Are you alright?” Hermione worried, vanishing the vomit without even looking at it as she scooted immediately behind him as he rolled back onto his back, his head in her lap.

He groaned, gulping in sharp lungfuls of sticky vile tasting air as he gagged and shuddered beneath them.

“Y-your dad,” he gasped, seeing Arthur's face _burning_ behind his eyes, god, no, no, _no_ , he wouldn't – he _wouldn't_ – not Mister Weasley, he would _never_ hurt Mister Weasley but that – he couldn't – “he's been – attacked.”

Ron's eyes were very blue.

“What?” he asked, sounding very small.

Harry coughed, “Your dad. He's been bitten, it's serious, there was blood everywhere...” he rasped weakly.

Ron opened his mouth to argue, but then looked at him again, and gently laid a _blessedly_ cool hand against his clammy feeling forehead. His face twisted in pain and grief a moment later.

“Ron?” Hermione asked quietly.

“We have to find him,” Harry choked out, “He was badly hurt, there was.... was a lot of blood.... We need to – someone from the Order,” he gasped, feeling his stomach roll once more and turned over to retch again, his body convulsing even as nothing more would come back up.

He felt Ron get off him, and a moment later he was being hauled to his feet and propped up.

“We need to go to McGonagall,” the red head decided. “And Harry needs the Hospital Wing.”

“I'm – I'm fine! Worry about your dad,” he panted, trying to wriggle free even as he felt Hermione come to his otherside and duck under his arm, tossing it over her shoulder.

“You're freezing cold but your scar is burning like a brand on your forehead, Harry. We're going to Professor McGonagall, she's in the Order right? We'll see her first, and she'll handle it, and then you'll go to Madam Pomfrey,” the red head decided firmly before scowling.

A moment later, he tapped Harry on the forehead and he felt very strange all of a sudden, like he could float away. Ron scooped him up easily then, off the floor and out of Hermione's grasp.

“Get the door.”

They ran to Professor McGonagall's quarters.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last day at work omfg FREEDOM


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The ship in port is the safer one,  
> But it’s not the reason it was made.”
> 
> –Radical Face (The Ship in Port)

If he had the presence of mind to be offended, he probably would have been as Ron carted through the corridors at a dead-sprint, held in his arms like some bloody Princess, Hermione sprinting at their side. But as it was, the world had gone shadowy and dark, things fuzzy and blurred at the edges, smearing into each other as they ran, the floor flashing with livid streaks of red, splatters of purple and blue. His head rolled off Ron's shoulder and began to bounce painfully, until the red head shifted an arm up to cradle the back of his head and tuck him back up under his chin.

Hermione slammed into Professor McGonagall's office door, hammering on it with her open palms. “Professor McGonagall! _Professor McGonagall!_ ” she cried, glancing backwards as Harry cringed at the noise, feeling his head throb even harder, the world flickering in shades of white and golden fire and sending _needles_ of white-hot agony into his brain.

He lost a few moments, shivering in a cold sweat, he felt someone lay a hand on his forehead and squinted his eyes open to frown at the hazy blue figure above him. Professor McGonagall's face was twisted in concern, she listened to Hermione with half an ear, one hand on Harry's forehead, her other hand conducting her wand up and down his body that Ron had yet to put down.

She said something about magical shock, and then they were running once more, Harry could feel them going up yet more flights of stairs, and then down some and along a corridor.

“ _Fizzing Whizzbee_.”

What did sweets have to do with anything, he wondered hazily as they climbed a spiral staircase and came to a polished wooden door with a griffin shaped brass knocker. Harry groaned as he heard voices, lots of them, he didn't want to be seen like this by anyone but Ron and Hermione, or Professor McGonagall, she was alright, she was _trustworthy_ , she was _blue_. Blue was good. Blue was soothing and gentle.

He closed his eyes as she knocked and the voices cut off suddenly.

“Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall... and – _ah._ ”

Voices blurred into one another, and it was only when Hermione's raised that he tensed, peeling his aching eyes open and twisting in Ron's grasp.

His vision blurred and smeared as he turned, Fawkes turning into little more than a streak of blue and gold as his eyes passed over him in the shadows. Professor McGonagall in shades of blue, Hermione lit up golden in his gaze, and in front of her, a tall figure red. He didn't _radiate_ the same boiling red malice as Umbridge, but it was there all the same. A quiet, deadly, determined intent to see him dead.

“It is just magical shock, Miss Granger, my girl,” the red man soothed with Dumbledore's voice, and Harry felt his head swim in bewilderment. “I have suffered it myself in my time. Rest and food is really the only thing that can be done.” He turned to Professor McGonagall, “Professor McGonagall if you could please draw some chairs for our guests.”

Harry watched him carefully, unable to drag his eyes away now that he had seen it, seen that quiet red stain.

Did Dumbledore realise that he'd noticed it? That he knew? The man continued to walk and talk, explore his devices, argue with Hermione, and through it all, avoid looking at him as much as possible.

“Dumbledore!”

“What news?” he asked at once, turning to the portraits on their left.

“I yelled until someone came running. Said I heard something moving downstairs – they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check – you know where are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway, they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a good view as they left – ” Ron's grip tightened on him hard enough to bruise, but he pressed his lips shut against the pain, turning to press his face into his shoulder as Dumbledore continued to talk over the portrait. He felt Hermione's hand clasp Ron's on his shoulder.

“Yes, they've taken him to St Mungo's, Dumbledore – they carried him past my portrait. He looks bad.”

“Thank you. Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children.”

“Of course...” she trailed off, turning to leave the office, pausing only briefly to squeeze Ron's shoulder before she went to the door, pausing with her hand on the knob. “Albus – what about Molly?”

“That will be a job for Fawkes when he has finished keeping a lookout for anybody approaching,” the red painted headmaster said. “But she may already know – that excellent clock of hers...”

Yes, the enchanted clock that Mister Weasley made, that would be pointing directly at _Mortal Peril_ , that Missus Weasley would be staring at in white faced shock and horror the second she saw it. Unless she was sleeping and not watching the clock? He felt cold all over once again, mind flashing back to her boggart, how it turned into her husband's lifeless corpse, his classes askew, blood running down his face.... not enough blood.... her nightmare somehow so much less violent than reality.

“Phineas! _Phineas!_ PHINEAS!”

Harry slit his eyes open again, watching as the headmaster told a portrait to visit his other frame, the thin reedy man eyeing him even as he spoke almost dismissively to Dumbledore. He didn't have a colour. He was as dark as all the other portraits and suits of armour they passed in the corridors. His voice was familiar though. They were talking about Sirius now, and he felt Ron tense up, bristling against him.

“You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife, children, Hermione Granger, and Harry Potter will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?”

“Arthur Weasley, injured; wife, children, Granger, and Potter coming to stay. Yes, yes, very well....”

He left the frame and vanished from view as the door behind them opened again, and the twins came in, Ginny tucked up under George's arm. The three started to see him, or rather, the state of him, barely conscious in Ron's arms.

“Ron? What's going on? Professor McGonagall said Harry saw Dad get hurt – ” Ginny asked, her voice high and frightened.

“Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix. He has been taken to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius's house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there.”

Fred looked shaken, wetting his lips. “How're we going?” he asked, “Floo powder?”

Dumbledore shook his head, “No. The network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey,” he explained, indicating an old belt lying innocently on his desk, gleaming golden to Harry's aching eyes in the blurry darkness. “We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back. I want to make sure that the coast is clear before sending you – ”

“He says he will be delighted,” announced a familiar bored voice of the reedy portrait man as he returned in front of his Slytherin banner. “My great-great-great-grandson has always had an odd taste in house-guests,” he complained mildly.

Dumbledore ignored him. “Come here, then,” he ordered, and Harry felt Ron get to his feet, and Hermione tangle his hand in the leatherbelt. “You have all used a Portkey before? Good. On the count of three, then... one... two... _three_.”

He felt a harsh jerk behind his navel, everything swinging to the side, Ron's grip on him being the only thing that felt solid as everything spun out from around him, and the world dissolved into colours both too dark and too bright and somehow not real as he felt Hermione and Ginny bang into him from either side. Ron's head bowed over him, into his neck, practically cuddling him as they were pulled onwards in a rush of wind and colour, and slammed into the ground, the belt tinkling to the ground and somewhere close to them a wheezing voice said:

“Back again, the blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?”

“OUT!” Sirius's voice roared, making Harry's head spin, and he whined through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut.

Hermione's hands touched his face, shushing him quietly, stroking his hair and laying cool fingers against his burning forehead. “He needs a _healer_ ,” she hissed, and he felt Ron say something, but couldn't make out what.

Then there was hands on him, raised voices, and Ron was taking several steps back, drawing him up tightly against him.

“Calm down, Sirius!” Hermione's voice rose, “Don't grab him like that!”

“What's wrong with him?!” Sirius shouted.

“Magical Shock according to Dumbledore,” Ron's voice rumbled through his chest into Harry's ear. “I have him, Sirius, back off.”

“He's my godson!”

“He's my boyfriend!” the red head snapped back, “ _Back off!_ ”

“Before I curse your hands off,” Hermione's voice threatened darkly.

“Si'ris... m'fine, jes'... tired...” Harry managed to slur out, squinting his eyes out to the blurry blue form of his godfather hovering not too far away, held at bay by a bristling golden Hermione, the twins and Ginny arrayed around them looking uncertain, flickering between blue and white as they looked between the three of them and Sirius. He flopped an arm out to touch her back, she didn't _relax_ , but her shoulders lowered and she shifted to the side slightly so that Sirius could see him.

“Harry, what happened? Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been hurt...” the dog animagus said sounding anxious even as his blue shaded face blurred and smeared with every nervous movement that his swimming vision couldn't keep up with.

“Dreamt... snake... tryin'a – tryin'a... had a job... in the way, woke up an' tried'a... drew a wand and... so much blood, bit him, his chest...” he trailed off distantly, trying to grasp the memories and feeling his hands slide away.

“He was thrashing in his sleep,” Hermione admitted quietly. “Ron pinned him down and I got pillows under his head. He was hissing and shouting. I think it might have been Parselmouth. But then he _screamed_ and – and woke up.”

“Vomited a few times. He was so cold to the touch, but his scar, the one on his forehead, it _burned_ to touch,” Ron's voice explained hoarsely. “He's been weak and shaking ever since. Dumbledore said it was Magical Shock but.... He's gone through worse stuff than this and it barely knocked him back, this? I've never seen him like this.” His grip tightened and Harry turned his head into him, words muffled and probably incomprehensible as he tried to assure his boyfriend that he was _fine_. All he needed was... was to sleep. His head was killing him after all.

He lost time again, and a moment later he realised he was on a couch, Ron still had hold of him, Hermione next to him, Harry's bare-feet in her lap, her hands uncomfortably hot on his ankle and the faint scent of butterbeer in the air. The room was silent, but he could hear the others moving as he slowly cracked his eyes open, and _blessedly_ his head didn't hurt as much, and the weird distorted darkness was gone. Ron was red headed and pale faced above him instead of golden, Hermione was frizzy haired and brown eyed in a green nightshirt. The room was lit by a roaring fireplace and a handful of candles, the only distortion around them being from flickering firelight.

He fell asleep, still feeling awful.

When he woke up next, he was lying in bed, Ron was fast asleep on top of him, face buried in the side of his neck, the two of them under the tangled slightly moth-smelling blankets of the red head's bed in their shared room. Hermione was not in the same room, likely as not she was sharing a room with Ginny elsewhere, and the twins had returned to their own room. He didn't know what time it was, but he could see the edge of their trunks from Hogwarts at the foot of their beds.

His stomach felt a bit funny, and his eyes were still itching and tired, but he felt alright. Hungry. And his mouth tasted awful and bitter. The vomit he didn't have a chance to wash from his mouth or brush from his teeth. Disgusted, he cast a quick cleaning charm on his mouth, wincing a little at the taste and feeling as his tongue and gums were scrubbed clean. The freshening charm that followed was a cool balm and did an awful lot more for making him feel better than anything else he could think of. Except maybe visiting the bathroom.

Carefully, so as not to wake him, Harry slid himself out from under his boyfriend, and slipped out of the room to use the facilities. When he came back, Ron was sat up in bed, sleep mussed, grumpy, and already reaching for him when he got within arms reach.

Harry willingly climbed back into his lap, and the two squirmed back into a comfortable position that resulted in Ron's arms around his waist, his face buried into the hollow between Harry's head and shoulder, with Harry's arms around his shoulders, and the red head between his open legs, his own curled up so as not to dangle off the end of the bed.

They did not fall back asleep as Harry ran his fingers through Ron's hair, and Harry felt him shake a little, and the side of his neck tickle with unmistakable wetness. He only bent his head down to kiss the side of his boyfriend's head and held him tightly until he shifted onto his elbows and leaned up, fitting his lips up against Harry's own.

He kissed back, pausing in his stroking of the red head's hair as he pulled away slightly only to kiss him again from a slightly different angle, one hand sliding down Harry's side to his hip, the other to brace Ron's weight above his head as he kissed him again and again and again. The Seeker inhaled shakily and felt the wet flick of a tongue against his open upper lip before he was being kissed again, firmly, deeply. Ron tasted like skin and saliva and sleep, and he didn't seem to know what to do with his tongue now that it was in Harry's mouth, he pressed it against his tongue and ran it across the roof of his mouth making him twitch and shiver at the weird sensation.

Harry squirmed, feeling his stomach twisting again. This was... nice, but it was getting a bit much.

He pushed himself backwards into the bedding, closing his mouth. Ron took the hit and pulled away, looking at him anxiously in the half-light of their shared room.

“Too fast,” Harry whispered softly, “Sorry.”

Ron didn't smile, he kissed his forehead and murmured an apology of his own before tucking himself back down into Harry's neck.

And then the door opened with a near-silent snik.

There was no sound of footsteps which was much more identifying than anyone would have thought given the company they kept these days. Hermione sat on the foot of their shared bed and peered at the two of them.

“Are you alright, Harry?” she asked gently.

He nodded. “Yeah. Much better than yesterday,” he admitted, still stroking Ron's hair as the red head showed absolutely no intention of moving anytime soon.

“Good. There's breakfast downstairs. You two should probably get something to eat. I think Missus Weasley is planning on heading to St Mungo's this afternoon, before visiting hours ends,” she explained and Harry felt Ron tense up against him.

“Okay,” he agreed as Ron shifted and pushed himself upright.

Even with Hermione in the room, neither of them were shy as they got dressed in jeans and sweatshirts ready to head out through muggle London. It was... a bit different though. Something had happened while Harry was sleeping. Maybe it was seeing him so vulnerable, but neither of them seemed interested in being further than arms-reach from him. More than once he would feel one of them touching him on the arm, or the back, or the side. If he looked around at them, he might end up with a quick peck, or, he might end up nearly having his tonsils tongued, which was – new. He wasn't – he wasn't sure how he felt about that kind of kissing just yet. It was... something. Nice, because it was Ron and Hermione.

Embarrassingly they were caught mid-kiss as Tonks hammered on the door and told Harry to get his tongue out from Hermione's throat (joke was on her, it was Ron who had _his_ tongue down _Harry's_ throat while Hermione sucked on the back of his neck). Harry was bright red, but neither Ron or Hermione were ashamed or shy as they followed after her down the stairs to where the rest of the clan were laughing gleefully at Mad-Eye who was wearing a truly awful bowler hat at an angle to conceal his magical eye and assuring him, truthfully, that Tonks, whose hair was short and bright pink again, would attract far less attention on the Underground.

Hermione pointed out that there _were_ muggles with glass eyes, you know, her parents had a guy come in every so often to visit the hygienist who had a glasseye. All Moody needed to do was charm it so it wouldn't whizz around in his eyesocket, and no one in England would ever comment or overtly stare. It would be rude to say anything, or stare, or even _look_ him in anything but his remaining natural eye. No one they passed in the street would dare acknowledge the glass eye.

Moody made a comment about Harry being with both Ron _and_ Hermione, something that had Missus Weasley looking at the three of them in surprise, a strange conflicted look on her face. Nothing was said though as the large group left Grimmauld Place and quickly travelled to the nearest subway station where they paid and got on board, both Moody and Tonks keeping an eye on their stops while Fred and George ogled the interesting muggle fashions around them, Ginny stared, transfixed, on a punk-goth girl with brightly coloured black and red dreadlocks, facial piercings, heavy black and red make-up, and knee-high platform boots covered in belts and spikes visible beneath a long black trenchcoat.

They got off and stepped out into a huge shopping highstreet, sticking together in order to avoid separating as the two aurors lead them towards a large, old fashioned, red brick department store called Purge and Dowse Ltd. It looked almost dilapidated, the window displays showing a few ancient mannequins standing in fashion poses, large signs in the windows reading 'Closed for Refurbishment'.

Harry looked around over his shoulder, the itch of his eyes developing into a full on throb as everything went dark and shadowy, and the people around them wavered into shades of white. Nothing but white as far as the eye could see. Save for a pair of distant blue figures wearing police uniforms as they passed through the crowds of Christmas shoppers, on the eye out for pickpockets, shoplifters, or another forms of trouble makers.

He didn't even see what Moody or Tonks were doing before he was being physically _prodded_ by the former non-Professor into the glass wall, and then _through_ it.

It felt like slipping through a sheet of cool water, emerging quite warm and dry on the otherside into what seemed to be a crowded reception area where rows of witches and wizards sat upon rickety wooden chairs, some looking perfectly normal, perusing out-of-date copies of _Witch Weekly_ (a universal constant it seemed in all medical offices was to have out of date magazines, muggle or magical), others sporting gruesome disfigurements such as elephant trunks or extra hands sticking out of their chests. The room was no bigger than the street outside, and many of the people were making strange noises that he sincerely hoped couldn't be heard through the enchanted glass: a sweaty faced witch in the centre of the front row who was fanning herself vigorously with the paper kept letting off a high-pitched whistle as steam came pouring out of her mouth, like a kettle; a grubby looking wizard in the corner clanged like a bell every time he moved and, with each clang, his head vibrated horribly so that he had to seize himself bu the ears to hold it steady. Just looking at him was giving Harry a sympathy headache.

Witches and wizards in lime-green roves were walking up and down the rows, asking questions and making notes on clipboards. There was an emblem embroidered on their chests, a wand and bone crossed together. It must have been the symbol for healers.

Harry watched them even as Ron wound an arm around his waist now they were out of muggle sight and tugged him towards Missus Weasley where she stood in a queue in front of a blonde witch at a desk marked 'enquiries'.

That was when Harry spotted the portrait of a familiar witch, who was paying them an awful lot of attention. Dilys Derwent, St Mungo's Healer 1722-1741, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry 1741-1768. She saw him looking and gave him a kind smile and a tiny wink before slipping sideways out of her portrait and vanishing.

“Next!” the blonde witch called as a man walked away, holding his daughter by the ankle like some kind of demented balloon as she flapped around his head with immense feathery wings sprouting out the back of her rompersuit. Harry stared at them with almost naked jealousy, what he wouldn't have given for wings of his own....

“Arthur Weasley? Yes, first floor, second foor on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward,” the woman told Missus Weasley as she ran her finger down her long list of patients.

“Thank you. Come on, you lot,” the red headed witch commanded, ushering them through the set of double doors and along a narrow corridor beyond. Portraits lined the walls of famous healers and was lit by crystal bubbles full of candles that floated up on the ceiling, looking like giant soap-bubbles. More healers in green robes bustled around them, moving purposefully through the corridors, past them into off-branching halls, back the way they came, and up ahead. Every now and again Harry would occasionally hear a distant wail, and all the air on the back of his neck would stand on end. He knew Hermione had heard it because it was barely a moment later before she took his hand in hers, and Ron's grip on his hip tightened.

They climbed a flight of stairs and entered the Creature-Induced Injuries ward where the second door on the right bore the words: ' _Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn Ward: Serious Bites_ '. Harry swallowed as he stared at it. Serious Bites. That.... sounded about right for what he saw.

He almost stepped back to join Tonks and Moody when they opted to wait outside for the family to visit first, only to have Missus Weasley shake her head and gently push him forward, and Ron to practically drag both him _and_ Hermione into the ward. “Don't be silly, Harry. Arthur wants to thank you,” Missus Weasley assured him even as her eyes lingered on her youngest son.

It was a small and rather dirty looking ward of wood-panels, gloomy without much light from the single window – narrow and set high in the wall facing the door. Most of the light actually came from the crystal bubbles clustered in the middle of the ceiling.

Three of the beds were occupied, and Harry was pleased and relieved to see him awake, upright, and propped up on several pillows reading the Daily Prophet by the solitary ray of sunlight falling on to his bed.

He looked up, and Harry's eyes itched once again as he stared at the man who was, and he felt bad for Sirius to even think it, the closest thing he had ever known to an actual father figure in his life. He lit up blue.

Blue save for a seeping red miasma on his chest, spreading through his colour like a _bruise_.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. It's not great. Too much was going on today so it isn't up to a standard that I would like. But it's here, my streak is unbroken. Now to crawl into bed.
> 
> And to those who realised Harry was developing Eagle Vision: Have a cookie and pat yourselves on the back.
> 
> Oh, and the reason Harry was so bad off after the vision in this fic rather than in canon, he's just had his brain blown wide open, activated Eagle Vision, and is mid-bleeding effect. It's fucking with his magic hardcore.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You have come of age with our young nation  
> We bleed and fight for you  
> Sometimes it seems that’s all we do”
> 
> –Lin-Manuel Miranda (Aaron Burr: Hamilton: Theodosia Reprise)

Possessed.

They thought he was possessed by Voldemort.

_Dumbledore_ had been waiting for it even. Was... was that why he showed up red? Was it _true_? Would the kindly headmaster strike him down like his stain suggested the moment Harry showed himself to be.... to be _un-Gryffindor?_ To be compromised?

How would he react to learn of the Assassin's Brotherhood that Harry was refounding? An organisation dedicated to killing.

He would immediately put him down. He would think he was becoming a second Tom Riddle, a second Voldemort, forming his own Inner Circle of Death Eaters out of the DA. He knew Ron and Hermione would stand by him no matter what, but it would _ruin_ them. Dumbledore – no, he was all about _second chances_. Harry would die, but he would try to – to reform Ron and Hermione into what he thought they _should_ have been. Ideal Gryffindors. Brave but lazy Ronald Weasley, youngest of six brothers, desperate to prove himself. Brainy and determined Hermione Granger, genius muggleborn girl determined not to be held back by a racist society. He would ignore the incredible people they already were and try to force them to be the ones he thought they should have been – he would watch them every day, every hour, second guess their every choice, dissect their every reason for every action. They would never be free of the 'stain' of being Dark Lord Potter's left and right hands.

He felt sick. With anger.

Missus Weasley sent him upstairs to get some more sleep, studying his pale face with concern even as she ushered his girlfriend, boyfriend, and the rest of her children into the kitchen. He took the excuse for a few minutes alone, feeling his blood practically boiling in his veins, his eyes itching as shadowy shapes of jeering people surrounded him as he climbed the stairs, Italian calls to hang the bastards echoing in his ears, distorted, like through a badly tuned radio, or like the first time he encountered a Dementor.

He squeezed his eyes shut until the words stopped, when he opened his eyes, he nearly jumped out of his skin – a face directly in front of him, semi-shadowed under a beaked dark grey cowl. Aged, lined, scarred, the mentore Ezio Auditore da Firenze bent forward to peer into his face.

Harry swallowed, feeling cold all over.

The man was not pale white and colourless, he did not give off his own light, he was.... he was _not_ a ghost. Nor a poltergeist.

His mouth opened but the words were soundless, and he closed it, looking a little frustrated but unsurprised.

Harry blinked, and he was gone.

The hallway empty. He blinked again, hopefully, the world turning shadowy and hazy, splotches of greens, blues, reds, and purples filling his vision. But no sign of anyone living or dead around him.

He was losing it.

He was absolutely losing it. Harry slipped into his room like a ghost, pale faced and shaking after the encounter, jittering like a shaken bottle of coke as he paced the room, flexing his hands open and shut in agitation. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to.... his _hands_ were itching. He wanted to climb something. Jump into cold water. Just.... _blank_ himself somehow.

He stripped out of his sweatshirt and dropped to his hands and knees, in the absence of space to run, or bars to lift himself, he began to do push-ups. Needing something meaningless, numbing, to focus on. Carefully regulating his breathing as he pushed himself up and lowered himself, controlling his descent every inch of the way and then pushing himself back up, inhaling as he went.

Harry could run, he was fast, and he could go for hours. But he didn't have much strength. And that was not good for someone who would be doing a lot of climbing in the future. It wasn't long before, in his efforts, he had begun to build up a sweat, panting harshly, his arms shaking slightly with strain. He kept going, blinking and gritting his teeth against the muscle burn, feeling heat throbbing in his face with every beat of his heart.

“What _are_ you doing, boy?” Phineas Nigellus demanded from his portrait, sounding so offended and bewildered that Harry barked a harsh laugh at the sound of it, amused despite himself.

“Push-push ups,” he panted out, grunting and licking salt from his upper-lip.

“ _Why?_ ”

“Because – I'm – _weak_. And this – will – make – me – stronger,” he explained harshly. “If I – lose – my wand – in – a – fight – this way – I'm – not – help-helpless.”

He huffed out another breath, and finally pushed himself upright properly, getting his knees under him and sitting up to face the portrait. His arms felt like noodles, his face was flushed red and ugly, sweat dampening his hair and face. He wiped it off on his sleeve and controlled his breathing as he waited for the portrait to talk.

The Slytherin Headmaster pulled a face of disgust. “I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore,” he declared, “Though I do wonder why he had me deliver it. Mad as you no doubt are, you hardly seem to be about to do something stupid.”

“What is it?” Harry asked, frowning. What did the headmaster have to say to him now that couldn't have – ahh, yes, he was kind of completely out of it earlier. Not to mention his weird aversion to him lately.

“' _Stay where you are_ '.”

He stared at the portrait dully. “That's it?” he asked flatly. “He didn't say anything else?”

“Nothing whatsoever,” Nigellus told him, raising a thin black eyebrow as though he found Harry impertinent.

The Gryffindor didn't know what he was feeling right now. There was a strange numbness in his hands that was probably due to the push-ups, but he wasn't so sure.

He slowly got to his feet, and then left the room.

He wanted a shower.

He didn't know how long he stayed under the spray, feeling it wash away the strange emotions he didn't understand, watching the water flow down the drain hole, if it it took all of them away with it, and felt him feeling empty and numb. Or was that the cold? Ah. He had gone through all the hot water.

Hermione caught him as he was coming out of the bathroom, stepping in front of him and hugging him tightly. He leaned into her but couldn't quite muster the strength to lift his arms. She understood, running her fingers through his hair as she held him against her. Eventually, she pulled him into the room she was sharing with Ginny, the other girl was absent, downstairs eating lunch, but Ron was waiting for them inside and he had a plate of sandwiches with him.

“I told mum you were still a bit shaky and didn't feel up to going downstairs,” he explained as Hermione pulled a knitted comforter off the foot of her bed and bundled him up in it, kissing the corner of his mouth gently before setting him down on the foot of her bed and going to pour herself a drink. Ron stole the chance to kiss him as thoroughly as possible. “Thank you,” he whispered quietly, “If you hadn't – if you hadn't seen it – Dad might've....” he trailed off, holding Harry tightly.

Their girlfriend sat down on the floor in front of them, pulling Harry's barefeet into her lap so they wouldn't be on the cold, dirty floorboards. “Eat something,” she ordered, passing up some sandwiches to Harry and Ron, watching them shrewdly as they dug in before doing the same herself, sandwich in one hand, her other rubbing at Harry's thin ankles.

They heard a burst of noise downstairs, Missus Weasley's voice, the twins', and Harry flinched a little. Reminded again of their faces as they all stared at him, Extendable Ears danging from their heads.

Hermione tightened her grip.

“I've been speaking to Ginny,” the muggleborn eventually said, once Harry had eaten at least two of the ham sandwiches. “She's the only other person we know who's been possessed by Voldemort. I think we can conclusively confirm that _you_ aren't being possessed by him, Harry,” she declared firmly, leaning forward to look him in the eye. “Harry. You _aren't_ being possessed.”

It took a moment for her words to sink in before he muttered, quietly, his voice small: “But Dumbledore said – ”

She sniffed, “He's a smart man, but he doesn't know everything and while he is an Alchemy and Transfiguration specialist, he is _not_ a spiritualist specialist,” she stated flatly. “It would be like expecting a Neurosurgeon to know how to wire a space rocket. They're both doctors, but from wildly different fields.” That.... actually made a lot of sense actually.

“So, what's going on then?” Ron asked, an arm going around his boyfriend.

“More likely, I would think, is that _Harry_ is the one somehow possessing Voldemort. Or in this case, as the attacker was a snake, his familiar. Nagini, wasn't it?” she asked looking up at him.

Harry nodded slowly, that.... made sense. “But... how? And – I wasn't in control, at all, I would never have – I would _never_ – ”

Ron kissed the side of his head, squeezing him, “We know you wouldn't. You'd throw yourself in _front_ of that snake before you'd let Dad get hurt. I know that. We all do. No one would ever blame you Harry, and I'll punch them if they even think about it,” he promised firmly.

“Your scar was painfully hot to the touch,” Hermione continued as if he hadn't interrupted. “Likely as not, you did it subconsciously, perhaps as Voldemort himself possessed Nagini? There's no denying you two share a mental connection. You were getting flashes and visions and dreams all last year. Dumbledore was probably expecting you to have more of them, or at least develop something more advanced this year. Fifth year is generally the time of most witches and wizard's third magical maturation.”

Ron blushed at the mention of it.

“He's red,” Harry admitted quietly. “Dumbledore. He's – when we were in the office. He glowed red.”

The other two stared at him in bewilderment.

“We wasn't wearing any red, Harry,” Hermione pointed out, rubbing her chin with a frown.

“No. He wasn't. But – ” Ron looked at his boyfriend before turning to Hermione, “He's been rubbing his eyes a lot. Complaints about headaches. Blinking too.”

She just looked confused.

“Harry's been in the pensieve more than all of us,” the red head continued with a very pointed look at her, trying to raise a single eyebrow but raising both at the same time. She still looked confused though, and Harry felt Ron sigh. “Any other colours, Harry?” he asked.

He shrugged, “You and Hermione were gold. And Professor McGonagall was blue. Fawkes was blue and gold. Mister Weasley was blue, but there was red on his wound,” he explained quietly, and felt Hermione's grip on his ankle tighten.

Ron gave her a pointed look.

“You think Harry's developing the Assassin's Eagle Vision,” she concluded. “But that would mean....” She paled.

“Dumbledore wants Harry dead,” Ron concluded, tightening his grip on him. “Or is at least _prepared_ to do it.”

“That doesn't make it any better. As if we didn't have enough things to worry about,” Hermione whimpered, dropping her face into her hands.

Harry swallowed, “We need to come up with contingency plans,” he murmured, “If he finds out about the Brotherhood, then he'll think I've gone the same way as Voldemort. We need to find a way to distance you from me, and – ”

Hermione lunged up from the floor, and shoved him flat onto the bed, hand on his chest.

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” she snarled, furious.

“Hermione – ” he tried to say only to stop as her hand slapped down over his mouth.

“No, Harry! _No!_ I refuse to let you go down and leave us behind! Together, you stubborn, self-sacrificial – ” she trailed off, struggling to find more things to call him, her eyes growing wet. Harry felt his heart thud painfully in his chest as she started crying. “D-don't you dare leave us,” she sobbed.

Ron reached out and tugged her into his lap from where she had been hovering over him, tucking her head under his chin as she sat on his thighs and turned her face into his shoulder and cried. He gave Harry a cool look.

“Don't ever say something that thick ever again. After everything we've been through – ” he began, his tone scolding.

Harry shot upright, “That's _exactly why!_ ” he blurted, flushed and angry. “I don't want to ruin your lives!”

“Bold of you to assume they wouldn't be anyway if you were dead,” the red head counted, his tone icy, as he continued to rub Hermione's back, the brunette staring at him with wet eyes, her expression crumpled in pain and dismay.

The green eyed Gryffindor shook his head miserably, “You'd – you'd get over it. You have each other. And if – if he really _did_ put me down, he would – he would at least give you guys a second chance and – ”

“I would kill him with my bare hands first before I took it,” the red headed told him flatly, face set in grim lines. “His war with Voldemort has put my entire family in danger from the first. Uncle Gideon and Uncle Fabian were in the Order, the Lestranges had to kill them with help from Voldemort himself. My dad is in hospital right now because he was doing a job for him. Mum cries every night and acts like we can't hear her, she watches the clock every second she can and pretends that she was just checking on us, Percy isn't talking to us and being taken advantage of by the Ministry. And on top of that, every year Dumbledore's stupid plans have put us in danger, put you in danger, either through his own inaction or his own machinations. Somehow, all three of us end up in the thick of it, end up bleeding, end up hurt, end up _nearly dying_.” He shook his head and grabbed Harry by the back of his head and dragged him in against them, pressing forehead to forehead. “Do not ever think we would ever stand with him, when we could stand with _you_ instead.”

“We love you, Harry,” Hermione told him softly, reaching out to pull them both closer, and add her own forehead to the press. “We always have, in our own ways. More so now than ever before. Please don't push us away.”

He pressed his lips together and hugged them both tightly, “I don't want you to – I want you two to – I just want you to be safe.”

Hermione shifted and kissed the side of his mouth, “That ship sailed the day I was born.”

“And even longer before,” Ron added.

Harry sighed, slumping against them in defeat.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, everyone spent putting up Christmas decorations that Sirius had rustled up from somewhere. Harry had never actually seen his godfather in such a good mood; he was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was going to have company over Christmas. Harry felt a small hard squeeze in his chest when he realised that this would, in fact, be the _first_ Christmas that Sirius had actually spent with someone else since.... since his parents had been alive.

It was a thought Harry tried to keep in mind when he found himself cornered in the Drawing Room as he used his wand to summon and vanish all the cobwebs and dustbunnies from every corner. A lot of the furniture in the room was so aged there was absolutely no saving it – not via magical means. Not unless he got.... a little muggle about it and didn't use an actual spell, but rather _raw_ manipulation, a bit like.... like using the knowledge that Altair gained from the Apple to do impossible things.

He was practising on a grubby looking armchair, sending his magic into the fabric fibres and feeling it out, finding all the dust that had leached into it and carefully lifting it. Repairing the fraying to the threading, strengthening it, seeking out into the padding where it was more magic than padding anymore. It was going pretty well, he had restored about half of the chair back to its original state, the forest green fabric regaining its lustre, the varnished wood smoothing, the rotting varnish renewing and becoming shiny.

“Erm, Harry?” It was Sirius.

“Hey Sirius,” he greeted. And then paused when the man closed the drawing room door behind him. “...Everything alright?” he asked. Sirius flickered into vivid shades of blue in the room filled with pin-pricks of greens, purples, and reds. He blinked again and his godfather dragged a hand through his hair uncertainly.

“Yeah, no, I mean, _yes_ , but... can we talk?” he asked hopefully, warily.

Harry frowned, “Sure.”

“Great, great.... So, uh,” he trailed off, obviously unsure of how to continue the conversation even as Harry leaned against the arm of the chair he had been cleaning and waited him out with a patience he wouldn't have had before starting the DA. “You and Ron, huh?” he finally settled on.

So that was what this was about.

“Yes. Me and Ron,” Harry agreed, “Hermione as well.”

Sirius blinked at that. Not getting it. “Er, no-no. I mean, Ron said you were his boyfriend.”

He nodded, “Yes. And Hermione is our girlfriend. We're together, Sirius. All of us.” He narrowed his eyes at the uncertain and confused look on his face. “ _Happily so._ ”

Sirius jerked as if burnt, “Of course, of course! Wasn't thinking otherwise!” Except he clearly was if the weird look on his face was any indication. “I'm glad you're finding happiness,” he said, and that at least Harry could believe was sincere. Sirius had only ever wanted him to be happy. “I'm just.... surprised. I thought you had a crush on that Ravenclaw girl, Cho. Not to mention little Miss Weasley giving you the eye.” He peered at Harry's face, almost hopefully. “Never met a Potter that wasn't a little weak for a red head.”

He gave his godfather a dry look. “Ron has red hair,” he pointed out with vague amusement.

The dog animagus opened his mouth to say something, thought twice about it, closed his mouth and gave Harry another almost pleading look. For what reason he didn't have the foggiest though. He wasn't a mind reader and Sirius's behaviour was frankly a bit _bizarre_. He just tilted his head and folded his arms, waiting him out once again.

“Ugh. You look like your mother when you do that,” the dog animagus complained almost plaintively, rubbing his face and dragging his hands through his hair again. Harry felt a warm pull in his chest at the comparison, and couldn't help but smile. “It's just.... you're all a bit.... _young_ , don't you think?” he asked helplessly. “And there's so much going on right now that – are you sure you're not rushing into things, Harry? It seems like it was only yesterday that you were this scrawny speccy little thing that barely reached my elbow, and now you're starting illegal defence groups at school, leading school wide rebellions, juggling a boyfriend and a girlfriend at the same time. It just – it just seems like you're getting a bit ahead of yourself. Forcing yourself to grow up too fast. You should be enjoying your childhood as much as you can, you won't get this time back,” he explained imploringly.

Harry stared at him, unsure of how to feel, and definitely not knowing what to say in response to this.

“Sirius....” he trailed off, and then shook his head. “I killed my Defence teacher when I was eleven,” he stated instead. Watching as he froze in place, grey eyes wide in the half-light of the windowless drawing room. “Voldemort was possessing him. His skin blistered any time he touched me. So I grabbed his face and I held on, even as it bubbled and melted under my hands.”

He opened and closed his mouth in helpless horror as Harry watched him without moving from where he leaned on the arm of the chair.

“Ron and I walked into the Acromantula nest at twelve, and we fought our way out in time to go down to the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny from a _Basilisk_. I rammed a sword through its mouth, Sirius. It bit me. I nearly died, I _would_ have died if not for Fawkes. I haven't had a childhood since I got to Hogwarts. I haven't _been_ a child since I got to Hogwarts and learned the truth behind how my parents were murdered. Because I didn't know before I got there, I didn't know about magic before I got there.

“If I'm growing up too fast, wasting my childhood too much, it's because the rest of the world has forced me to. I can't say I'm a man, there's a lot I don't know, but there is one thing that I do know: It's my life to live, and my mistakes to experience. As much as you, or any parent, would like to swaddle us in cotton and linens, shield us from the cruelties of humanity, of war, of grief, and death, and pain, you can't, and you shouldn't. We deserve to live and grow,” he told his godfather with gentle cruelty even as he pushed himself to his feet.

Sirius rubbed his face as Harry hugged him.

“When the hell did you get so wise?” he demanded hoarsely, his eyes beginning to wet a little.

Harry snorted, and dragged his head down to rest on his shoulder. “All those life threatening incidents. Relive your life that many times, you start finding the time to ponder all sorts of deep and introspective things. And sometimes you read it in muggle fortune cookies,” he joked in an effort to lighten the mood.

“So you won't break up with them so your dear old dogfather doesn't feel so old anymore?” Sirius also _semi_ -joked, without a single ounce of hope.

Harry squeezed him a little tighter, to the point of pain, hearing him wheeze in discomfort. “Not a chance.”

“Didn't think so. Could you – ” Harry loosened his grip, letting him breathe. “ – thanks. It was a stupid thing to ask anyway. Sorry kiddo.”

“Forgiven. But the next time you ask, I'm dip-dying you Slytherin colours and dropping your green ass in the lake,” he promised, making him bark a startled laugh.

 

 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Evil prevails when good people do nothing.” –Erin Gruwell (The Freedom Writers Diary)

Visits to Mister Weasley were restricted due to the timetable of their escorts, Missus Weasley often took the floo to the Leaky Cauldron and walked from Charing Cross to visit him, leaving the majority of them to Grimmauld Place and Sirius's care, the dog animagus stepping up to the plate with rare almost gleeful enthusiasm. His utter delight at having the house full again, especially at Christmas time and with Harry close at hand, was infectious and no matter how surly the twins and Ginny got at being unable to join their mother's visits to the hospital, no one stayed angry for long.

It was hard when the Marauder was teaching them the dirty lyrics to almost every carol that came over on the Wireless, when they would turn the corner on the landing and find the decapitated House-Elf heads now sporting jaunty christmas hats and reindeer horns. The whole of Grimmauld Place was transformed as Sirius pulled out all the stops, both trying to distract the children from the dire circumstances that brought them there, and trying to ensure that everyone enjoyed the holidays more with him than they would have done at Hogwarts. A tall order, but one that he seemed quite up to the challenge with. It was a completely different building from the summer previous. Tarnished chandeliers were clean and gleaming, draped in streamers of gold and silver and garlands of holly; magical snow flittered in heaps across the threadbare carpets and artfully in untravelled corners; a great Christmas tree, obtained by Mundungus and decorated with live fairies, blocked Sirius's family tree from view with particular satisfaction from their host; and every door had its own little Christmas sign with their names upon it, declaring whether they had been naughty or nice. Harry was amused to note that is said nice, and Ron's said naughty, much to the red head's offence – and then hilarity when he learned that Hermione too had naughty, and they realised they were being _heckled_ by their boyfriend's parental-figure.

Harry woke on Christmas morning to find a stack of presents at the foot of his bed, and Ron's lips on his.

“Merry Christmas,” he greeted with a grin once Harry was finished blinking blearily at him in rumpled offence. How dare he be woken up so early? Then the words sank in and he blinked himself awake, yawning and stretching under his covers.

“Merry Chris'mas,” he groaned in reply, collapsing back into his bedding and feeling his bed shift as Ron got up. “You didn't have to wait for me,” he muttered as the red head went to the unopened pile at the foot of his bed.

He snickered, “I didn't, in case the wake up call escape your notice,” he teased.

Harry stuck his tongue out, and yawned again, contemplating rolling over and going _back_ to sleep.

“Ooh. Thanks for the Broom Compass, it's excellent!” Ron exclaimed happily, and Harry grinned as he sat up.

No point. His presents demanded attention, and so did his boyfriend.

“Hermione got me a _homework planner_!” Ron exclaimed, sounding almost offended, but also disbelieving and fond all at the same time. Harry looked over at him and then dove into his own presents and found one with Hermione's handwriting on it. She had given him a book that looked like a diary as well, except every time he opened a page it said aloud things like: ' _Do it today or later you'll pay!_ '

“She's such a nerd,” he said, grinning.

“I know. It shouldn't be as cute as it is,” Ron complained in amusement, tossing the diary onto his bedside.

Sirius and Lupin had given Harry a set of excellent books entitled _Practical Defensive Magic and its Use Against the Dark Arts_ , which had superb, moving colour illustrations of all the counter-jinxes and hexes it described. Harry flicked through the first volume eagerly; he could see it was going to be highly useful in his plans for the DA, for the Brotherhood. When he got back to Hogwarts he would most definitely be going through it all with Hermione and Ron to see what they could incorporate. They would have to practice it all themselves first, but they also had an awful lot else to practice too.

They were going to have to break out the timeturner again.

Hagrid had sent a furry brown wallet that had fangs, which were presumably supposed to be an anti-theft device, but unfortunately prevented Harry from putting any money in without getting his fingers ripped off. Remembering the last time Hagrid got him any kind of biting object, he rubbed the wallet in a variety of places to see if it lessened the thing's murderous intent. It did. And he was quite pleased to note that rubbing the wallet's belly(?) would make it audibly purr, which shouldn't have been as cute as it was. Tonks's present was a small, working model of a Firebolt, which Harry watched fly around the room, wishing he could go out on the full-sized version, before remembering that, hah, yes he could. As soon as he got back to Hogwarts, because Umbridge was still in her potion induced coma. Not only that, but he had already declared his intention not to follow her rules or edicts. So really. Nothing was stopping him. Ron had given him an enormous box of Every-Flavour Beans, something he shyly admitted he could only just about afford. He would save up more for next year, promise. Harry had to kiss him out of his embarrassment – and then shove a bean into his mouth just to see his expression when he ended up with a mouth full of BBQ sauce.

Mister and Missus Weasley had given him the usual hand-knitted jumper, which he eagerly pulled on, actually surprised to see that it fit him for the first time. Usually they were always baggy. He knew he had bulked out since starting to train, he hadn't realised how much though. Unless Missus Weasley had figured out his sizes at long last? Given how Ron was straining the seams of his jumper though, he kind of doubted it. The mince pies were appreciated though.

He was just, er, _admiring_ Dobby's gift, a truly terrible painting that Harry suspected the elf had painted himself, when there was a loud _crack_ that had Ron yanking a wand out as the twins apparated to the foot of his bed.

“Merry Christmas!” George greeted jubilantly, only for his face to fall a split second later. “Don't go downstairs for a bit,” he said seriously.

“Why not?” Ron demanded anxiously.

“Mum's crying again,” Fred admitted heavily, dropping down to sit amidst the remnants of Harry's wrapping paper on his bed. “Percy sent his Christmas jumper back.”

“Without a note,” George added flatly, face void of emotion in a disturbing way. “Hasn't asked how Dad is or visited him or anything.”

Fred flopped back and watched Harry's toy Firebolt zoom around the room. “We tried to comfort her. Told her that anyone who ditches family like that doesn't deserve one. Didn't work.”

“So Professor Lupin took over. Best let him cheer her up before we go down for breakfast, I reckon,” George said, stealing one of Ron's chocolate frogs that Neville had sent him. “Mum hates it when we know she's been crying,” he admitted miserably looking at Harry.

“What's that supposed to be anyway?” Fred asked, squinting at Dobby's painting in Harry's lap. “Looks like a gibbon with two black eyes.”

“It's Harry!” George crowed in delight, pointing at the crude lightning bolt scar on the 'gibbon's forehead.

“Good likeness,” Fred quipped with a grin. Harry hit him in the face with it, laughing.

Eventually they surfaced from the room and met up with Hermione on their way down to breakfast, she had with her a present for Kreacher. Harry couldn't help but think the elf wouldn't appreciate a gift from someone he considered appalling but perhaps it would help him see that they weren't as awful as he believed.

And then they found his cupboard. And that word alone made Harry's stomach twist unhappily with memories.

Most of Kreacher's cupboard was taken up by a huge old fashioned boiler, there was a bit of space beneath it though and amidst the pipes the elf had made himself a nest of filthy blankets and rags, scattered amidst the material were stale bread crusts, mouldy old bits of cheese. Family photographs and trinkets and coins were hoarded away in a distant corner, too far away for anyone to reach with their own hands. The glass of the frames were shattered, but the little black-and-white people in them peered up haughtily, scowling at him – including, he realised with a small jolt of horror and mixed feelings, a young Bellatrix Lestrange, placed in front of all the others, her glass clumsily mended with spellotape.

He stared at the tiny space, feeling like he had turned into a static TV screen, pins and needles racing up and down his body as Hermione lay her present for him in the tiny depression and closed the door quietly.

“Come to think of it,” Sirius said, breaking him out of his strange ear-ringing numbness, “Has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?”

“Not since the night we got here,” Hermione admitted slowly.

“He couldn't have left, could he?” Harry asked, looking over at him. “Dobby did it repeatedly. He left the Malfoys to give me warnigns two years ago. He had to punish himself afterwards, but he still managed it.”

Sirius looked disconcerted for a moment. “I'll look for him later. I expect I'll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother's old bloomers or something. Of course he might have crawled into the airing cupboard and died – but I mustn't get my hopes up.”

Fred, George, and Ron laughed at the light tone, Hermione looked reproachful, but Harry had a strange roaring in his ears as it finally clicked over in his head where he had last heard this kind of talk, last heard that kind of tone. And he felt _sick_ with it.

“That's what the Dursleys used to say about me,” he interrupted quietly.

The laughter cut off completely with sharp finality.

“Harry...” Hermione trailed off, not knowing what to say and he could only shake his head.

“You guys carry on,” he said flatly and then turned back to Kreacher's den, staring at it for a moment before he pressed his lips together in a thin line. “I'll be down for lunch later.” And then he went upstairs to run a bath, ignoring Missus Weasley when she called out to him.

It had never really twigged for him before now that – that he had basically been raised _as_ a house-elf. That the reason Sirius's treatment of Kreacher had never sat right with him was because it was so familiar, but dissonant. Because he _knew_ Sirius was a good man, someone who fought for the right reasons, who wanted to make things better, who hated that stupid pureblood supremacy crap, and didn't follow the same beliefs as the Death Eaters. But then he went and... and acted like Vernon and Marge Dursley. And Harry couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before now. Kreacher even lived in a filthy cupboard, just like Harry had.

How long had that elf been abandoned in this house, on his own, to go insane without company or care? Unable to leave, no where to go?

It wasn't much, but it was something. And ordinarily, Harry would _never_ – he knew how much his cupboard had been his sanctuary as a child. It was the one place that the Dursleys didn't mess with. But with Kreacher's age, with what was no doubt an inability to care, whether he wasn't allowed to use magic without permission or something, or perhaps even illness or arthritis or who knew what, he hadn't been maintaining it. And with filthy mouldy things in there, with dirty blankets and rags, he may eventually get sick. So Harry drew a hot bath, and he raided the bathroom on that Sirius's mother lived on, sniffing bottles until he found one that he figured might have smelt like her, and then poured that into the water.

“What are you doing?” Ron asked, catching up to him on his way out.

Harry shrugged a shoulder. “I'm going to wash Kreacher's bedding, and and clean his cupboard.”

“Why? I mean, I don't – why now?” he asked, struggling to find the right words. “It's Christmas. Everyone is waiting downstairs.”

He shook his head. He didn't want to explain. Had probably already said too much downstairs. He twisted around his boyfriend and went back downstairs, ignoring the awkward silence in the kitchen as he opened up Kreacher's cupboard and gathered up his stinking blankets. Ignoring Missus Weasley's attempts to call him back to the table until Bill gently quieted her with a few soft words.

“Harry – just throw a cleaning charm – ”

Harry cut Sirius off. “At this stage, a cleaning charm would destroy it,” he stated bluntly, not looking up as he carefully dragged out several festering copies of the Daily Prophet, peeling them up off the floor. Drawing his wand, he used a scouring charm to lift all the filth from the floorboards, he repaired the leaky boiler pipes that the elf had padded his nest against. The photos and trinkets were too far away to reach, but he used a little bit of transfiguration to lift them up onto a small shelf. Under it he would stick some pillow-cases in there, they would be warmer than that loincloth and at least clean. He did all of this in silence, to the sound of silence, and then got to his feet, gathering up the blankets and going back up stairs.

He knew what he was doing was.... probably making Sirius feel like shit. Ruining the Weasleys' Christmas, ruining Sirius's Christmas. But he just – he had _been_ where Kreacher stood before. Forced to occupy a house with someone that hurt him, that hated him, someone that he hated as well, unable to leave, unable to fight back, looked at with scorn and disgust, spoken down to as though he were _vermin_. Harry had been there. And not a single person had helped him, had stuck their neck out for him. He wouldn't have wished that kind of life on _Malfoy_. Not seriously. This wasn't enough, not really, but it was a start. Kreacher had reached the point where he didn't _want_ help. He was.... he was an old, and god he hated the word, he was an _old slave_. And Harry remembered reading that sometimes, they became proud of their service, that they would defend even the most vicious of their masters because they had become so twisted and indoctrinated by everything around the, all the horrible lies and beliefs that this was their natural place, what they deserved, that it was _their fault_ they were punished and beaten and raped and mistreated.

And here he was. Watching it in real time. At the hands of someone he loved. Someone he thought was a good man.

Until suddenly he realised that you can be a good man and a monster at the same time.

He jumped violently when a second set of arms plunged into the bathwater beside him, jerking and looking up at Hermione who smiled tremulously at him, her sleeves rolled up, kneeling at the edge of the bathtub with him. She turned her attention back to the discolouring water, and used a little bit of the scented soap to rub out a stubborn yellow stain on the table cloth, without a word.

Then Ron was there, taking the clean wet blankets and drying them with careful charm work, still looking confused and a bit uncomfortable, but pitching in none the less.

The trio were thorough, and Harry was used to washing things by hand. Aunt Petunia refused to have her undergarments machine washed, and she had several woollens and other expensive outfits that would get torn apart in a drum, or shrunk. So Harry had gotten used to the work, even if he was a bit out of practice. Still. It didn't take them long, and by the time they were done the bedding was once again soft and sweet-smelling. It was a little stained here and there, but they were faded almost to invisibility in thanks to the magical soaps.

And then Harry remade Kreacher's nest, feeling a sick twist in the pit of his stomach as he remembered nights as a child doing the same thing in his own cupboard, pretending to be a fox or even a dragon hiding in a lair. Anything to make it feel a little more like a choice he had made, like a natural thing for him to do, anything so he wouldn't think of the two unused bedrooms upstairs. It never worked.

Sirius and the rest of the Weasleys had eaten, but Sirius had held back a few plates for the three of them, looking unsure of whether or not they would even be welcome. But the three dug in, even if Harry didn't taste anything and only forced himself to eat because it would have made them all worry if he hadn't. Once they were finished, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione waited for Mad-Eye and Lupin to take them to the hospital. Mundungus popping up in time for Christmas pudding and trifle, having managed to 'borrow' a car for the occasion as there would be no public transport running on Christmas Day. The very clearly stolen car had been enlarged with a spell like the Weasleys' old Ford Anglia and was even able to fit all ten of them inside. Missus Weasley paused before getting inside, her clear dislike of Mundungus battling with her dislike of travelling without magic, but eventually the cold and the desire to see her husband won out over her disapproval and she eventually settled herself into the backseat between Fred and Bill with.... moderate good grace.

The trip was quick at the very least, being early morning the roads were mostly abandoned. Undoubtedly it would be more populated in the afternoon once presents were finished with and people began to make the rounds to visit friends and family. They got to St Mungo's and joined the small trickle of witches and wizards creeping up the otherwise deserted street to visit the hospital. Once they got out of the car, Dung drove off around the corner to wait for them, and they all stepped inside one at a time.

The reception was fairly lively and festive. It was less crowded than last time, but there were still a few comical individuals waiting around. Like the witch with a satsuma uncomfortably crammed into her left nostril, and a scowl that could have murdered a man.

“Family argument eh?” the welcome witch asked with a smirk. This must have been her favourite day of the year, he thought, watching as she directed the witch to the spell damage ward with a grin.

They found Mister Weasley in the Serious Bites ward still, propped up in bed with the remains of his own turkey dinner on a tray in his lap, and a rather sheepish expression on his face. One that Harry recognised immediately. It was Ron's ' _I did something I thought was cool, but is likely to get me in trouble, so I'm going to carefully not mention it and hope you don't notice_ '.

Missus Weasley clearly noticed it as well as she bustled over, giving him a quick kiss, and stepping back to let the children greet him and offload their presents on the foot of the bed. “Everything alright, Arthur?” she asked almost pointedly once they were done.

Harry and Hermione exchanged looks as the man beamed.

“Fine, fine,” he assured her, a little too heartily. _Exactly_ like Ron. “You – er – haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?”

They had to turn away to hide their laughter. Harry could already feel his poor mood from this morning beginning to lift as Missus Weasley got suspicious and Mister Weasley tried at airy nonchalance, trying to distract her by exclaiming over his presents. It was as he exclaimed happily over his present from Harry and leaned over to grab his hand, that she leaned around and peered at the bandaging under his nightshirt.

“You've had your bandages changed,” she said with a snap in her voice like the vice of a mousetrap. Mister Weasley immediately froze. “Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow.”

“What?” Mister Weasley asked quickly, looking rather frightened and pulling his bedcovers up his chest like some kind of blushing maiden. Or a shield against his wife's wrath. “No, no – it's nothing – it's – I – ”

He seemed to deflate under Missus Weasley's piercing gaze.

“Well – now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea – he's the trainee healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in, um, _complementary_ medicine. I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies, well, they're called _stitches_. They work very well on – on muggle wounds – ”

Harry made a noise of mixed amusement and interest, “That would actually work pretty well, thinking about it,” he whispered looking at Hermione. “If there's an anticoagulant in that venom then short of gluing the wound shut it would be one of the only ways to stop it,” he admitted. He blinked at Mister Weasley and grimaced at the ever creeping red across his chest, “It doesn't seem to be working though.”

The two watched as Lupin moved to go and speak to the werewolf chap in the corner, while Bill muttered something about a cup of tea and strategically retreated from the room, the twins leaping up and following with grins of amusement. Harry and Hermione exchanged a look, grabbed Ron by the arms, and then towed him out of the room, Ginny following along after them with a poorly stifled snicker as Missus Weasley's voice rang out even through the closed door: “WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?!”

Ginny huffed fondly. “Typical Dad. Stitches, I ask you,” she scoffed.

“Well, you know they do work well on non-magical wounds. Sounded as though the venom was melting them though,” Hermione mused with a frown.

They made their way down the corridor through a set of double doors to get to the staircase. It was lined it yet more portraits of somewhat brutal looking healers from ages past. As they climbed, several of them called out, diagnosing odd complaints and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron snorted in amused affront when one medieval wizard declared with absolute certainty that he had a bad case of spattergroit.

“And what's that supposed to be?” he asked with indulgent dismissal as the man pursued them through six more portraits, shoving the occupants aside in his desperation to be useful/relevant again. They did not slow down for him.

“Tis a most grievous affliction of the skin, young master, that will leave you pockmarked and more gruesome even than you are now – ”

“Oi, watch who you're calling gruesome,” Harry warned with a frown, shifting to take his boyfriend's hand.

“ – the only remedy is to take the liver of a toad bind it tight about your throat, stand naked at the full moon in a barrel of eels' eyes – ”

“Sounds gross. I don't have spattergroit,” Ron told him in amusement, grinning down at Harry who was too busy glaring at the portrait to notice.

“But the unsightly blemishes upon your visage, young master – ”

Hermione snorted, “They're freckles. And they're cute, I'll have you now,” she declared, standing on tiptoe to kiss her tall boyfriend's cheek, much to the healer's noisy horror.

“Ugh, get a room you three,” Ginny complained in amused disgust. “What floor is this?” she asked almost desperately.

“Fourth floor,” Harry said, with a narrow eyed scowl at the lamenting portrait as he exclaimed over how the young lady was now infected and needed to hold a pickled frog's liver under her tongue for three hours in order to prevent contracting the malady. “One more,” he said sharply.

Ron snickered at him and then looked up and swore, “Bloody hell! Is that – is that Lockhart?” he blurted in surprise.

Hermione jerked around to stare at the suddenly beaming man as he exuberantly shoved open the doors and moved towards them in a long lilac dressing gown. “Hello, hello! Hello there! I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?” he asked brightly, and somehow very vacantly.

“Er – how are you, Professor?” Ron asked, sounding slightly guilty as he examined the vapid seeming man. Sure the man had been trying to abandon them in the Chamber of Secrets after removing their memories, but seeing first hand what had become of him was still a stab at their conscience. The man seemed cheerful enough, but vapid, more so than usual. Like a four year old in a grown up's body, proudly declaring that he knew how to do joined-up handwriting now. They couldn't really say no when a motherly healer bustled over, catching them in the act of talking to their former professor, and invited them to come on in; she seemed so pleased for him that he'd actually received visitors. From the way she spoke, it.... didn't sound like anyone came around very often.

She ushered them inside the Janus Thickey Ward, cheerfully informing them that it was the long-term residents' ward, for people suffering extreme spell-damage, as she manoeuvred Professor Lockhart into his armchair next to his bed.

“With intensive remedial potions and charms and a bit of luck, we can produce some improvement,” she explained quietly. “Gilderoy does seem to be getting back some sense of himself; and we've seen a real improvement in Mister Bode, he seemes to be regaining the power of speech very well, though he isn't speaking any language we recognise yet. Well, I must finish giving out the Christmas presents, I'll leave you all to chat,” she said with a kindly smile before bustling away.

The ward bore unmistakable signs of being a permanent home to its residents. They had many more personal effects around their beds than in Mister Weasley's ward. The wall around Gilderoy's headboard was papered with pictures of himself, all beaming toothily and waving at the new arrivals. He had autographed many of them to himself in disjointed childish writing. Right now, he was scribbling enthusiastically on a small stack of photographs.

“You can put them in envelopes,” he said to Ginny with eager happiness. “I am not forgotten you know, no, I still receive a great deal of fanmail! Gladys Gudgeon writes _weekly_! I just – I wish I knew _why_.” He looked faintly puzzled for a moment before smiling again and returning to his writing, “I suppose it's simply my good looks.”

Harry ignored him, peering around the rest of the ward. A sallow-skinned mournful looking wizard lay in the bed opposite, he seemed to be the newest arrival, having less in the way of personal belongings than everyone else. He didn't seem to be aware of anything around him, mumbling under his breath. Two beds along was a woman whose entire head was covered in fur. Harry remembered something similar happening to Hermione during their second year, though fortunate the damage in her case hadn't been permanent. And judging by the way she stared at the dog-like woman in question and shifted a bit closer to Harry, Hermione wasn't too sure about how to feel on it as she saw the woman, Agnes, bark happily when told her son would be visiting.

Harry's eyes began to itch.

The room lit up in shades of white. The healer glowed a cheerful blue, radiating good will and a desire to help. Around her were the pale white shadows of her helpless patients, incapable of understanding enough of what was going on to be a conscious threat or ally.

A blood red potted plant was set on the bedside table of the mumbling man.

“Look Broderick! You've been sent a pot plant and a love calendar with a different fancy Hippogriff for each month! They'll brighten – _what are you doing young man!_ ”

Harry launched himself across the room and snatched the plant away – immediately he felt pain as the ugly little swaying tentacles lashed out and dug into his arm, crawling up his skin and reaching for his neck.

The healer shrieked, and chaos erupted as Ron and Hermione shouted in alarm, two of the patients in the far corner behind privacy screens began to scream, the woman Agnes howled, and the tentacles of the _fucking potted Devil's Snare got around his neck!_

He gagged, rasping for air as the plant tightened its grip.

There was a sudden burst of flame, and the tentacles writhed, snapping back away from his neck and arm – he gasped for air and threw the potted plant as far away as he could from everyone in the room, the clay pot shattering against the wall before a second burst of flame set the whole thing alight.

“Harry!” Hermione had her arms around him, checking his neck as he rasped, coughing through teary eyes as he tried to breathe.

“Oh goodness! Oh my goodness!” the healer was gasping, hand pressed over her heart as she stared between him and the smoking smear of ash against the far wall, and his unexpected saviour stood firmly in front of him with their wand out.

“You alright, Harry?” Neville Longbottom asked as he turned around and knelt down in front of him.

“Y-yeah,” he rasped, “Nice _incendio_.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Harry just brushes off the treatment of House-elves really bothers me in canon. You'd think he would be more empathetic given how he practically was raised AS a house-elf. I guess it just never really clicked for him in the books. Well, here it did.


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You aren’t what’s happened to you,  
> you are how you’ve overcome it.”
> 
> –Beau Taplin (Overcome)

“Get off me – no, I _don't_ want it healed!” Harry rasped harshly, pushing the well meaning healer's wand away. They had been ushered into the nurses' tearoom to wait for the aurors and a healer from downstairs had been called to deal with Harry's bruised throat.

“Young man – ” the frazzled man scolded.

Harry shoved his wand away again, “It's evidence,” he croaked. “Until the aurors get here and see the proof, you're not touching it,” he growled.

“The aurors don't _need_ to see proof! They need to be able to understand what you're saying!” the healer protested, and Harry gave him the dirtiest look he could muster before lifting his fringe, making the man pause when he got a look at his forehead.

“They need to see the fucking evidence,” the Gryffindor sneered bitterly.

The healer backed down, looking constipated.

No one tried to assure him that it wasn't needed, they were _all_ aware of the Daily Prophet articles calling him a liar, a troublemaker, an attention hog. That it was likely the Ministry would try to deny everything that had just occurred simply because it involved Harry Potter in a positive light after they'd spent the last several months tearing down his reputation. Frankly, he didn't _want_ it to get into the papers, because then whoever send Broderick Bode a potted Devil's Snare may try something _else_ , and he wasn't going to be there to notice it. Hell. If it hadn't been for his eyes itching and slipping into Eagle Vision then no one would have noticed the innocuous little plant, and it was likely he would have died.

Next to him hovered Ron and Hermione on one side, and on his other sat Neville, who didn't seem too inclined to go any further than three inches away from him given how he was practically sat _on_ Harry. Ginny had gone running up the stairs to find Bill and the twins in the tearooms – she would go for her mother and the rest of their group once Bill was there to keep an eye on things. On Harry. Because who knew if the Ministry would try to accuse _him_ of bringing in the Devil's Snare.

Augusta Longbottom was a stern, formidable looking woman in a familiar green dress, a moth-eaten fox fur stole, and a pointed hat decorated with what was unmistakably a stuffed vulture. If the situation weren't so grim, Harry was fairly sure both he and Ron would have cracked grins at the sight of it, and the memory of Boggart!Snape wearing that particular ensemble.

As soon as the healer moved off, she bore down on him, eyeing the way her grandson was sat next to him and then to his bruised arm and throat, taking it all in with sharp calculative eyes. “Harry Potter,” she greeted, “Neville speaks most highly of you.” She thrust a wrinkled claw-like hand out to him.

The brunet flushed, glancing at Ron and Hermione, and then looked down at his hands, clenched white knuckled on his knees.

He pushed himself to his feet, and took her hand, and then stunned just about everyone in the room by bending and kissing her knuckles. “ _Piacere –_ ” he had to turn away to clear his throat, “My apologies. It is lovely to meet you, Madam Longbottom,” he said hoarsely straightening up. He refused to be embarrassed about showing proper manners to a Lady, but he _was_ embarrassed about slipping into the Italian. That was.... a first.

Madam Longbottom lifted her chin, pretending at casual, but flushed ever so lightly. “Well, I am glad to see manners have not been forgotten at Hogwarts. I _had_ been concerned,” she announced primly. She turned to Ron and Harry took his cue to sit down and grimace apologetically to Neville whose ears had gone red. “You are clearly a Weasley, yes, I know your parents – not well, of course – but fine people none the less. Fine people,” she declared haughtily, presenting her hand to Ron who, flushed to the tips of his ears with embarrassment, got to his feet and likewise followed Harry's example of kissing her knuckles. “And you must be Hermione Granger?” she asked, turning to the brunette girl who quickly got to her feet.

“Yes, ma'am. It's a pleasure to meet you. Neville speaks of you often,” she said with a slightly uncomfortable smile. She did not kiss Madam Longbottom's hand, but rather shook it, and it wasn't Harry imagination to see the older woman's smile shade towards an approving smirk at the action, or the feeling of Hermione's hand.

“Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy,” she said casting a sternly appraising look down her bony nose at him. “But he hasn't got his father's talent, I'm afraid to say.”

Indignation swooped unpleasantly in the pit of Harry's stomach. “My apologies, Madam Longbottom, but on that subject I must protest,” he rasped out with narrowed eyes as she turned to regard him. “I do not mean to cast doubt upon the care you have provided your grandson, but Neville has shown incredible improvement in his spellcasting – as you _just saw_. I imagine it would only improve further if he actually had a wand _suited_ to him.”

Her eyes narrowed on him, but he only frowned at her, refusing to back down even as Neville sank into himself.

“That was his father's wand.”

Ron sighed, “I had my brother Charlie's until second year,” he admitted quietly, making the woman pause and look at him. He shrugged, “Couldn't afford to have my own,” he said flatly, working his jaw and refusing to be ashamed of it. “It never worked that well for me. It broke on me and I had to keep using it for the rest of the year, wrapped up in spellotape. Dad used the prize money we won to get me another one. My spell casting improved to the point where I was third in class, right behind Harry and Hermione,” he explained nodding to them. “Charlie's wand was ash wood and only twelve inches. _My_ wand is willow, fourteen inches. It has the same core, but the length and the wood make all the difference.”

Huh. Willow and unicorn hair. That was the same kind of wand his mother had. Did Ron have a hither-to unknown talent for charms? He would have to bring it up later.

He eyed the elderly witch, feeling a small sting of something.... was she in the same situation as the Weasleys? Financially strapped? As far as he knew it was just her and 'Great Uncle Algie' living and taking care of Neville. No job was ever mentioned, and he didn't get the impression that Madam Longbottom was the Ministry worker type. Did that mean they had been steadily eating their way through whatever money had been set aside in the Longbottom vaults without anyone earning money to top it off? Could... could she _afford_ to get Neville a wand? Would she even bother?

Harry pressed his lips together. He was going to have to figure out a way to deal with this. No student of his was going to be running around with a wand ill-suited for him.

Neville's pride was about as fierce as Ron's though at times, must come from his grandmother, he decided as Bill barged into the room to make sure they were alright – closely followed by the twins. It was semi-organised chaos at that point, broken by Mad-Eye and Lupin coming in with Missus Weasley on their heels. Then the aurors showed up and the whole thing went off again.

By the end of it all, Harry was very glad to be ushered back to Grimmauld Place, sore and unhappy.

He forgot to have the bruises healed by the end of it all though, so Sirius's reaction was.... not fantastic.

“You bruise so _vividly_ ,” Hermione muttered softly, fingers featherlight on the livid red and purple lines around his neck once the three had some privacy. Ensconced within Harry and Ron's room, they moved the bed-side table out from between their respective four posters, and shoved the two together before padding the little gap with every blanket and pillow they could discreetly scavenge or transfigure before drawing the hangings and making a kind of nest for the three of them to curl up in together. It was dim, which was lovely on his burgeoning headache, and it was warm, which was lovely as well because his toes felt like ice, his ribs were actually _aching_ from shivering so hard, and his fingers still felt like they were never going to be warm again. All in all, he was feeling somewhat hard done by right now, and being huddled up between his boyfriend and girlfriend was pretty much the only highlight of the rather miserable day.

“Pale skin, always have,” he murmured without opening his eyes as he drowsed, listening to Ron's heartbeat. “Probably the only reason Uncle Vernon didn't hit me more. School would get suspicious.” He squirmed a little, moving his aching arm into a more comfortable position.

“Oh,” Hermione said softly, and then he felt her arms sliding up his waist and around his back until she was cuddled up pleasantly against him. Deep curves and soft lumps and sweet smells.

He hummed happily and shifted to accommodate her a little better, and smiled as she kissed him.

 

* * *

 

Kreacher was found in the attic, covered in dust, and in a strangely better mood than usual. His reaction upon seeing his cleaned out nest was mixed. He flew into an absolute panic, screeching and throwing all the blankets and pillows out, Sirius almost cursed him – he very well may have if Harry hadn't grabbed his hand tight enough to grind bone and told him to leave the room if he couldn't control himself. As soon as the elf ascertained that none of his precious trinkets were missing, none of his blankets were gone, that even the newspapers had been replaced fresh, the leaking pipe repaired, and fresh pillow-cases placed beneath his beloved picture frames, he fell quiet with bewildered fear.

When they were alone, just him and Kreacher, Harry sat on the floor not far from him and apologised for going into his cupboard without permission. It was _his_ space, and his alone. He explained that when they went to give him a Christmas gift, they saw the dirty blankets and he worried that perhaps the vows he made to the family made it impossible to use his magic for his own care. He didn't want him to get sick, which can happen in dirty surroundings, so he cleaned the blankets and returned them and found Lady Black's pillow-cases for him as he held everything of hers precious.

“Why does filthy mudblood traitor do such things for Kreacher?” the house-elf demanded suspiciously, even as he began to carefully return the blankets and sheets to his nest. Eyes suspiciously bright as he sniffed, his nose scrunching, fingers flexing on the fabric as he could no doubt recognise the soaps used in its cleaning.

Harry shrugged, fiddling with his thumbnails. One was getting a bit long. He bent and clicked it with his other nail, exploring the curve of it.

“I...” he looked down. His left arm was still crawling with bruises. “I wasn't _raised_ a wizard,” he admitted softly, and Kreacher snorted dismissively.

“Filthy mudblood says the obvious. Born to filth, raised in filth,” he muttered under his breath and Harry smirked a little, completely without humour.

“I was raised a house-elf,” he stated. And Kreacher froze, hands stilling on his nest, back towards him. “My muggle relatives hated magic, just like your family hated non-magicals. I had my own cupboard, under the stairs. I was to do all the cooking. All the cleaning. I had to tend the gardens. All without magic. I would be punished if anything went wrong. If my magic went off, I would be locked in my cupboard for weeks at a time, without food. My uncle's sister would bring her dogs over sometimes. She would set them on me for sport.” He rolled up a trouser leg and pulled down his sock, revealing pink little pock-marks barely visible amidst black hair and pale skin. “Regina caught me only once. I didn't let it happen again.”

Kreacher stared at the scars on his leg and then up at him. Harry shrugged again. “I didn't like how Sirius spoke to you. It... reminded me too much of them. So we wanted to do something nice for you. Hermione made this for you. For when it got colder.” He nudged the still wrapped package over.

With nothing else to say, he got to his feet, and left the kitchen.

Kreacher still showed up a bloody pulsating red under Eagle Vision. But that was fine. Harry didn't do what he did in order to win the elf over, or to even make him like him. Or even because it was the right, or the nicest thing he could have done at that particular moment in time. His actions were wholly selfish and he knew it. He did it because he wished someone would have done it for him. And that was all the reason he needed. And if Kreacher watched him with an odd expression on his face, and looked away even more quickly when he realised Harry had noticed, that was for him to worry about. No one else.

Sirius had fallen into a black mood now that Christmas was over. Harry's reactions towards his treatment of Kreacher had thoroughly ruined what cheer having them all there had given him during Christmas, and now he was withdrawing once again, becoming snappish and sullen. Often times he would vanish for hours into Buckbeak's room and avoid everyone. His bad mood seeped throughout the house like a foul smell, affecting almost everyone to the point where Harry would often withdraw to his room to snuggle with Ron or Hermione.

On the one hand he didn't want to leave Sirius alone in this house that he hated, with Kreacher whom he also hated, whom hated him. He had been there, forced to live with people he hated, that he hated. It was an awful experience. So, he cornered Sirius two days before they were due to go back to Hogwarts.

“Can.... we talk?” he asked, peering into Buckbeak's room where he had retreated.

Sirius jolted and sat up from where he was petting the hippogriff, making him whistle a little unhappily at the loss of affection, at least until Harry bowed to him and then joined the creature's other side.

“Sure,” the former Gryffindor said, looking uncertain but also uncomfortable. “What did you want to talk about?”

Harry stared down at the stormy iron grey feathers under his fingers, trying to think of a way to broach the subject. It was a difficult one. And for all the wisdom and empathy and understanding he had gained from the lives of the mentors and warriors he had witnessed, even they would have struggled with this conversation, he thought. Though.... Some less so than others, perhaps.

He wet his lips and then looked up at his godfather. “You know I love you. Right?” he asked quietly, making him start and stare at him with such an expression of naked vulnerability on his face that it was like a punch to the stomach for Harry to realise that _no_ , Sirius _did not know_. Or rather, _doubted_ that Harry did. “You were the first person to offer to take care of me, properly. The second you thought I was in danger, you came for me, even though I didn't know you, feared you even. And then, even on the run, you dropped everything to come back and live in a cave eating _rats_ just so you could be near-by if I needed help. I don't think – I don't have the _words_ to explain how much that meant to me.” He looked down at Buckbeak's feathers, digging his fingers into the thick silky down. “Only Ron and Hermione have ever gone so far for me. And. I do love you. I do.”

“But...?” his godfather prompted quietly.

“....But I think it's more with the _idea_ of you, than... than you,” he admitted softly. “I don't.... I don't _know_ you. Not that well. And, I _want_ to but....” Kreacher, House-elves, how did he even explain this? “...I don't like bullies, Sirius. I've spent so much of my life being treated like scum for one reason or another. I can't stomach seeing it happen to other people.”

The silence was deafening, _damning_ , and Harry grimaced, feeling a hard knot in his chest, misery crawling up his throat to weigh him down.

“You talk to Kreacher the way my Aunt and Uncle talk about me. The way the _Malfoys'_ talk about people.” He looked up at his godfather, misery making him feel sick and hard at the same time. “Kreacher hates you. You hate him. That's _fine_. You don't _have_ to like each other. But, Sirius, he is a _slave_. He can't leave here. You can.”

Sirius scoffed bitterly, “No I can't. Wormtail'll've told them all about my animagus form.”

Harry shook his head, “Nothing is stopping you from dying your hair and going out into the muggleworld, Sirius. The world is _bigger_ than Diagon Alley and the Ministry!” he snapped, and Buckbeak ruffled his wings with an irritated click that forced him to take a deep breath and calm down. He got to his feet and rounded the hippogriff with a short pat to his beak. “You have all the best qualities of a Gryffindor. And the _worst_.” He bent forward to hug him, gently cradling his head as he rested his forehead on his greasy, alcohol smelling hair. “You aren't your mistakes. And I know you can do better. You broke the mould your parents laid for you. Time to break the one you made for yourself..... Think about it. Please....”

He didn't wait for a reply, Sirius's breath shook like Harry had _stabbed_ him, and he wasn't likely to be saying anything any time soon.

He left the room.

 

* * *

 

The day before they were due to return to Hogwarts, everyone was in the 'nest' of Harry and Ron's room, the two boys with Harry's defence texts open on their knees while Hermione and Ginny were sketching mechanisms of Hidden Blades on parchment and discussing the merits of clockwork or charms when Missus Weasley knocked. She waited to be invited in this time, having learned better when the last time she just barged in she caught her son with his tongue down Harry's throat, the latter of which practically bent backwards over the desk in the corner. She waited to be called in these days (thankfully – god knows how she would have reacted if she'd walked in on Hermione kissing the snot out of Ron while sat in his lap, his hands up her skirt. NOT DOING ANYTHING, except enjoying the touch of bare skin, but yeah. Harry didn't want to think about how she'd have reacted to that).

“Harry, dear,” she called, poking her head in, “could you come down to the kitchen? Professor Snape would like a word with you.”

Harry paused, frowning at her from his books. “Snape?” he asked flatly.

“ _Professor_ Snape, dear,” she reminded him pointedly. “Now come on, quickly, he says he can't stay long.”

“We haven't done anything wrong lately, have we?” Ron asked as his mother withdrew and Harry warily marked his book and got up.

“No. Nothing that would necessitate him speaking to us directly. Not unless....” he trailed off looking at Ron, “Not unless he realised what Neville did.”

Ginny frowned at him, “What did Neville do?” she asked.

“Sabotaged his potion last year. Bog off, it's none of your business,” Ron snapped at his sister with a roll of his eyes.

An argument broke out almost immediately as Harry left, as amusing as it was, it did little to lessen his trepidation as he made his way down the stairs to the kitchen. Inside he found both Sirius and Snape seated at the long kitchen table, glaring in opposite directions. The silence between them was heavy with mutual dislike and a thousand unsaid but certainly implied words. A letter lay open on the table in front of Sirius, but was too far away for Harry to see any words, or identify the handwriting.

“Professor,” he greeted as he let the door close behind him. “Missus Weasley said you wanted to speak to me?”

Snape looked around at him, his face looking even more waxy and yellowish in the dim candle-light of the kitchen, framed as it was between curtains of greasy black hair. “Sit down, Potter,” he ordered, his voice barely civil.

“You know,” Sirius bit out loudly, “I think I'd prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see.”

Snape flushed irritably, and Harry eyed the ceiling, praying silently for patience as he took a seat next to his godfather.

“I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,” Snape announced, pointed in his address of the younger Gryffindor as he ignored their host. A familiar sneer twisting his mouth. “But Black – ”

“I'm his godfather,” Sirius reminded him, louder than ever.

“I am here on Dumbledore's orders,” Snape said, his voice becoming quiet and waspish by comparison. “But by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel.... involved.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sirius demanded harshly.

“Merely that I am sure you must feel – ah – frustrated – ” This was getting them no where.

Harry slapped a hand on the table, “ENOUGH! Both of you act your ages!” he commanded, jarring them out of their argument. They stared at him in surprise. “Thank you. You had something to say, Snape?” he demanded, eyeing the man intently.

There was a long moment of silence before Snape's eyes narrowed. “I do not appreciate being spoken to in such a manner, Potter.”

“And I don't appreciate the way you've treated me since day one, but Oh Well,” he retorted sarcastically, narrowing his eyes. “Neither of us is getting what we want.”

“Just say your piece, Snivellus, and get out,” Sirius demanded, an ugly sneer twisting his face.

Snape flushed, his face twisting in fury.

“Sirius!” Harry snapped admonishingly, rounding on his godfather. The man stared at him, started for all of a moment, before his expression crumbled and he looked away, ashamed.

There was another pronounced silence before Snape spoke up. “The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.”

“And what is that?” he asked, turning his attention from his godfather to the professor.

“The magical defence of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one,” he explained simply.

Harry nodded slowly. “So. He really does think I was possessed then,” he concluded, watching Snape carefully from the corner of his eye and saw the man's face carefully blank. Well, that just about confirmed it. Seemed that everyone in the Order was now aware that Harry was a potential security risk.

He blinked, and the world devolved into shadow and light.

Blue light.

Both Sirius and Snape were blue. That was..... surprising.

“You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?” the potions professor demanded, eyebrow raising scornfully.

“She's awake?” Harry asked warily.

He shook his head. “No. None of the St Mungo's healers can identify what is preventing her from waking.” And the way he was eyeing Harry more than made him realise that Snape _had_ realised what was keeping her under. Whether he approved or not remained to be seen, but he hadn't said anything yet. Whether that was because he was holding it over Harry's head, or because Dumbledore was keeping his mouth shut for whatever reason – waiting to use the evidence of it against him in the future? Proof of his having done dark and evil?

“Who will be teaching me?” he asked instead of anything else.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

“I am.”

“Why can't Dumbledore teach him?” Sirius demanded aggressively, “Why you?”

Harry said: “I'm a security risk.” at the same time as Snape said: “I suppose because it is a headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks.... Do you truly believe that, Potter?”

The Gryffindor stared at his teacher with tired eyes. It was only because he was shaded blue that he even said it. “I'm not stupid, despite what you'd like to think.”

Snape watched him coolly, reminding him more than ever of a viper in the grass, waiting to see if he should strike, or slip away. “Indeed.... I shall expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anybody asks, you are taking remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.”

“Better start offering it to the Slytherins as well then, otherwise no one will buy it,” he retorted only semi-playfully, but also bitterly. A familiar burning sour pride he recalled from Altair as a youth. He _knew_ he wasn't that bad at potions. He had no doubt he would be one of the better brewers if not for Snape himself or the rest of Slytherin house.

There was another silence before Snape got to his feet.

“I do not appreciate your cheek, Potter,” he stated silkily as he reached for his travelling cloak.

It was a trial, but Harry didn't answer to that, and kept a hand on Sirius's arm to prevent him from getting up.

Snape left without another word.

Sirius looked at him in confusion. “When did you get so sassy?” he asked bewildered.

Harry gave him a dry look. “I've always been sassy, Sirius. I just haven't had cause to mouth off around you before. You usually do enough for the both of us,” he teased, nudging him lightly with a grin just as the kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy. Mister Weasley in the middle, still stressed in a pair of striped pyjamas, covered by a large mackintosh.

“Cured!” he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. “Completely cured!”

It was probably the best end to the Christmas Holiday they could have hoped for. Remedial potions not withstanding.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently visiting my parents for the next few days. Chapters might not happen every day, just to warn you. Dad and I have been playing in the forge and that doesn't leave much time for writing, neither does the neighbours coming over and wanting to socialise. God, they have a thirteen year old daughter, they want me to 'mentor' this girl. Like, no, you don't understand. I know we're both HP fans, but she's thirteen. I am THIRTY. We are not 'peas in a pod'. I'm not her older sister, or her friend. I am an adult whom is the daughter of her parents friend. If she doesn't want to socialise with me, I'm not going to force it like holy shit that is so many levels of not okay.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So fierce is the passion that burns within my heart, a raging forest fire, unstoppable and all-consuming.” –Michael Faudet

The morning they were due to return to Hogwarts was bitterly cold, and Harry had zero desire to get out of bed and deal with that. He was comfortable, and he was warm. And no amount of nudging from Ron was going to get him to move from his cocoon.

He squirmed away from invading cold fingers and dug himself under more blankets, grumbling a little when all that did was prompt laughter from his boyfriend who proceeded to press on the blankets until he found Harry's hips, and then physically drag his cocoon out from under the rest of the bedding and into his lap.

“No,” Harry grunted, wriggling in his blanket burrito. There was no getting away, and Ron took his time kissing him senseless, with the added benefit of waking him up whether he liked it or not. He scowled up at his boyfriend, hot and bothered, still wrapped up in his blankets and unable to escape while he grinned wickedly down at him before climbing off and going to get dressed. The black haired boy groaned in annoyance, and then fought his way free of his blankets, shivering angrily in the cold before diving for his own clothes, slipping out of reach every time Ron tried to pinch or poke or tickle him.

He let the red head get a final kiss in, to show he wasn't _really_ annoyed, before they went down for a very awkward and hurried breakfast where the Order members coming to escort them pretended they hadn't been talking about him as he walked in through the door. It was like being in school, he was surrounded by children. They ate a good hot breakfast and then went to get themselves bundled up in hats and scarves against the frigid January morning. Harry was just double-layering his hoodie with another sweatshirt when Sirius pulled him aside.

“Here. I want you to take this,” he said quietly, presenting a small, clumsily wrapped package the size of a homework planner out to him.

“Thank you. What is it?” he asked.

“A way of letting me know if Snape's giving you a hard time. “No, don't open it here!” he hissed, catching Harry's fingers when he went to pick at the tape. He looked warily at Missus Weasley before giving Harry's chilled fingers a small squeeze in his own overly warm ones. “I doubt Molly would approve – but I want you to use it if you need me, all right?”

Harry nodded, “Alright.” He... probably never would. The magical world was too dangerous for Sirius to go running around in right now. If it was a situation where the risk to Sirius was limited, and his help truly was essential, then Harry would contact him, but not before. It would be unfair to Sirius to leverage their relationship and his obligations to put him in the path of danger.

“Let's go then,” Sirius said, clapping him on the shoulder with a grim unhappy smile.

The dark haired Gryffindor ignored him and surged forward, hugging him tightly. Sirius 'oof'ed in surprise, and yelped a little at how tightly he was being squeezed before getting into the spirit of it and hugging back just as fiercely. Then he was being shunted outside into the icy winter air, ushered to the pavement, Number Twelve vanishing behind them even as with a loud BANG the Knight Bus burst into existence.

He didn't pay any attention to Stan as he was shoved onto the bus and into a chair as their group was forced to split in order to take what few unoccupied chairs there were. He ignored the witches and wizards that looked at him, likely because Stan was _following_ them the length of the bus, gabbing enthusiastically about how the Daily Prophet was still calling him mad. Ron looked just about ready to punch him, judging by the scowl on his face. If it weren't for the fact he was finding it difficult to keep his breakfast down, Harry was fairly sure his boyfriend would have already done so.

It seemed too long a trip, and yet also too short as they burst into the snow coated Hogsmeade, and trundled through to stop outside the schoolgates.

Lupin and Tonks jumped out first, checking their surroundings quickly before helping them get their luggage off.

“Look after yourselves,” Lupin said, shaking everyone's hands. “And listen, Harry, I know you don't like Snape, but he's a superb Occlumens and we all – Sirius included – want you to learn to protect yourself, so work hard, alright?”

Harry narrowed his eyes on him, “You all keep saying that as if his lessons are going to be worse than usual. What _aren't_ you telling me?” he asked sharply.

“Remus, we have to go,” Tonks interrupted before he could answer, eyeing the bus. “Good luck everyone, behave yourselves!” she told them, grabbing the werewolf and towing him back towards the bus.

The Gryffindor scowled and turned away, seizing his trunk and beginning the slippery walk back up the path towards the castle. At least until he lost patience and, after making sure the bus was gone, hauled the whole thing up onto his shoulder and just ploughed on through the snow. Ginny made a rude noise in the back of her head when Ron and Hermione followed suit, the three of them being the only ones physically strong enough to do so out of the six. His mood was not improved over the next day. Double-potions in the morning was about as unpleasant as always, and through the entire day he had more DA members approaching him about a session that night, which he had to turn down. He used the excuse of 'remedial potions' that Snape provided, but in such a tone of voice that everyone knew it was a cover story – it was the same tone of voice he used when speaking to Professor Umbridge during class.

Smith gave him a commiserating grimace when Harry delivered his canned line. “Oh. Okay. Well, Susan was hoping to talk to you, sooner rather than later to be honest. I think she told her Aunt about the pensieve memories.”

Harry put his head into his hands. Smith nodded and patted his shoulder before leaving again.

“Susan's a smart girl,” Hermione reassured him, “She wouldn't sell us out. Cho,” she greeted with mixed surprise, displeasure, and forced friendliness.

The Ravenclaw was as pretty as ever, her long powder fine black hair pulled into a french braid with a blue scrunchie. She smiled a bit uncomfortably at Hermione who, despite trying to sound friendly, didn't succeed very well. “Hi guys. Um, did you have a good Christmas?” she asked hopefully, looking specifically at Harry.

“It was a bit shit, in all honesty,” Ron interrupted with a frown, shifting closer to Harry.

The smallest of the Gryffindors shrugged a shoulder, glancing up at his boyfriend before looking at her. “It – wasn't great, no,” he agreed. “There won't be a DA session tonight. I'll contact everyone in the usual fashion when I get a chance. I have _remedial potions_ with Snape,” he explained with an aggressive roll of his eyes that made her giggle a little, and go quiet as soon as she realised both Ron and Hermione were now glaring at her. Harry nudged them, a little confused by the sudden hostility.

“Um... There's another Hogsmeade trip next month, did you see the notice?” she said nervously, looking between the three of them.

Harry shook his head, “No. I haven't had a chance to check yet. Thanks for the heads-up.” Chances were he would get so caught up in the Brotherhood again that he wouldn't have even returned to the dormitories in order to see the notice. Before the holidays it had started getting to the point where he gave passing thought to just picking up his trunk and moving in properly.

Cho smiled, “Yes. It's on Valentine's Day....” she trailed off meaningfully, and Harry tilted his head, wondering what she was on about. If it was Valentine's Day he should think about something nice to do for Ron and Hermione, he wasn't entirely sure what, but – _oh_.

That was what she meant.

He eyed her anew, wondering if she hadn't believed him, or if her self-confidence was that destroyed. He looked up at Ron and Hermione. “Can you two give us a second?” he asked gently.

There was a pause where they looked at him, and then at each other, before looking back to Cho and down at him.

“Okay,” Ron agreed simply enough, tugging Hermione away even as the brunette bristled like an unhappy cat. They went on ahead to the library where they had originally intended to spend their free period before lunch. He felt a surge of warmth for them both when they left without argument. At the very visible show of trust they were giving him. Both of them knew he was arse over tit for Cho Chang previously, that they trusted him to talk to her alone about Hogsmeade and Valentine's Day was lovely. And probably difficult for them. He would have to think of something good to do for them.

He turned to her, “Cho, how are you doing? _Really_?” he asked seriously, peering at her face, taking in the very carefully applied make-up. It would have been practically invisible to anyone else, but he could see how it had clumped and smeared beneath her eyes, no matter how carefully she had applied it, she had been crying again, and recently.

Her smile became nervous, “What – do you mean? I'm fine.”

“Cho. I told you before Christmas I was with someone,” he pointed out flatly, and her lower lip trembled. “And now you're here being very hinty and suggestive. I know you're better than this.”

Wrong thing to say. She burst out crying, and Harry slumped. Fuck, that went well.

He stepped forward and drew her into a hug before she could go and run off. She struggled for a moment, trying to push his arm away, only to end up latching onto him like a limpet, wailing into his shoulder. He stared determinedly against the far wall, rubbing her back, and ignoring everyone that stared as they passed them by. Eventually her tears ran dry, but she didn't let go of him, and he didn't make her. He kept rubbing her back, standing perfectly still, and staring at the wall and wondering how to handle this conversation further. He seemed to be having a lot of difficult talks lately, he wasn't sure if he appreciated it to be honest.

“I know you're hurting,” he finally said, “I know you're confused, and lonely. That you're scared, and you don't know what to do, and all your feelings keep bursting out. Cho, that's _fine_. You lost someone you cared about very much. You don't have to move on until _you_ feel you're ready,” he told her gently, continuing to rub her back. “If you still cry when you think about him, if it still hurts too much to think about the good times, you're not ready.” He drew back and began to wipe her tears away. “You're an amazing girl, Cho. A great flier, smart, and kind. You don't ever have to settle, and you shouldn't. I'd be honoured to call you a friend, but it would be unfair to _you_ and to my partners if we did anything. You deserve someone who will love you completely and wholly. And so do they. So do _I_.”

“Harry – ” her voice broke as she tried to speak and he shook his head.

“I want to be your friend, Cho. Not your rebound,” he told her. “Give it some thought. And if you want someone to talk to, I'll be here. If you want someone to throw a couple of curses at, well, I can point you to a few Slytherins.” She giggled a bit wetly, and he considered it a success enough to step back and pat her shoulder. “Thanks for the heads up about Valentine's Day. I would have completely forgotten if not for you.”

Her smile was tremulous, and wet, and sad. But she smiled. “S'okay. Thanks for.... for letting me snot all over you,” she laughed, a little helplessly, wiping her eyes, and smearing more of her make-up.

They parted ways, and Harry ended up being ambushed by Ron and Hermione halfway to the library where they had been waiting for him. They did not go to the library that period. And Harry was snogged thoroughly senseless in the nearest broom-cupboard, left trembling and squirming and turned on, needing to put some distance between them. Thank god for lunch and afternoon lessons.

By six o'clock that evening though, the glow of managing to help Cho, please his partners, and do well in Charms was thoroughly dead with dread and suspicion as he made his way down the stairs towards Snape's office. He didn't know what to expect once inside, and he was utterly loathed to go in. Blue toned or not, Snape was still a singularly unpleasant and antagonistic individual. Harry had already begun to conclude that the colours shown in Eagle Vision merely subscribed to individuals' intents towards him. People he didn't know showed up blue, the majority were white, Ron and Hermione were undoubtedly golden, and there were a handful of Slytherin students that glowed bloody violent red. Malfoy was surprisingly white. The colour of neutrality. Or rather, someone who had no intention of killing him, or saving him from life-threatening danger. All the teachers showed up blue save for Dumbledore. All the prefects, save for the Slytherins, showed up blue. The whole DA showed up blue. Many Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs showed up blue. Ravenclaw was fifty-fifty blue and white. Slytherin was primarily white, glaring splotches of red amidst the upper years, and handfuls of scattering blues amidst the first years.

Just because they showed up blue and white, did not mean they weren't assholes, didn't work against him, or even liked him. It just meant they would help him if he needed it. And as Snape demonstrated in his third year, the man was undeniably a fucking asshole who hated him, hated Sirius, hated Remus, with every ounce of his bitter blackened soul – but he would save Harry's life if ever he was in danger. But he would hate every second of it. He wondered if that made him a good man? He was most definitely not a _nice_ one. But.... He sighed and knocked on the door.

Philosophical questions about right, good, and nice could wait for later.

Why were the dungeons always dark, he wondered as he stepped into the shadowy room. It was lined with shelves bearing hundreds of glass jars full of slimy bits of animals and plants, suspended in various coloured potions and fluids. In one corner stood a cupboard of restricted ingredients that Snape had once accused Harry of stealing from – not without reason admittedly. On the man's desk was a pensieve though, full, glowing white with hidden memories, its edges golden in the candle-light.

His eyes itched, and he spotted the blue outline of his teacher in the corner with the deepest shadows. He blinked it away, and waited patiently for the man to announce himself, watching him all the while.

“Shut the door behind you, Potter,” the man finally said, sliding out of the darkness when it became apparent that Harry knew where he was and didn't intend on doing anything else but watch him. He grimaced at the thought of closing himself off in a room with a man he knew hated him, but did it anyway. Snape wasn't out to kill him, maiming and mental torture were a possibility, but death not so much. He gestured to the single chair set in front of his desk, and Harry took it, watching as he sat opposite behind the table, dislike etched into every line of his face as the two observed each other.

Idly, he wondered what Snape saw when he looked at him. Whether it was just a carbon copy of his father, another typical Gryffindor, a mudblood like many of his house did, or if he saw the instrument of Voldemort's downfall and hated him because of that. Many Death Eaters had escaped Azkaban by swearing themselves bewitched, coerced. Harry knew Snape was a spy for Dumbledore, but how willing was that? How much of his behaviour at Hogwarts was an act? How much of it was his actual personality and beliefs?

“Well, Potter, you know why you are here. The headmaster has asked me to teach you Occlumency. I can only hope you prove more adept at it than at potions,” he sneered and Harry felt that sting of Altair's pride once more, coupled with the disgust Ezio and Ratonhnhake:ton would have no doubt felt about such a piss-poor example of an educator. Of a mentor. After spending years teaching, of travelling and reviving the Brotherhood, of recruiting and building it anew again and again and again, this man dared claim the title of Professor, of _teacher_ , and did nothing to earn it, or progress it. He opened his mouth before he could even think to censor himself.

“It's your job to actually teach potions, Professor. Perhaps if you did more than throw instructions up on the board, non-magically raised students might do a bit better,” he pointed out coldly. “... _sir_ ,” he added.

Dark eyes narrowed with hatred on him, and Harry arched an eyebrow. Daring the man to tell him that he was wrong. If he tried, he was going to rip him a new – no, _no_ , down boy. He inhaled and packed it away. “You said Occlumency is defending the mind. What from? Mind reading, mental manipulation, memory implantation, possession?”

If Snape was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. “Occlumency defends against mental intrusion. Only muggles talk of 'mind-reading' as you infer it. The mind is not a book to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls, to be perused by any invader. The mind is a complex and many-layered thing, Potter – or at least, most minds are.” He smirked pointedly, and Harry gave him the exact look Leonardo would often give Ezio when he was at his most stupid and horny. “It is true, however, that those who have mastered Legilimency are able, under certain conditions, to delve into the minds of their victims and to interpret their findings correctly. The Dark Lord, for instance, almost always knows when somebody is lying to him. Only those skilled at Occlumency are able to shut down those feelings and memories that contradict the lie, and so can utter falsehoods in his presence without detection.”

Eagle vision. He was talking about Eagle Vision. Legilimency was a magical version of Eagle Vision and Occlumency could fool it. Snape was a master Occlumens. He could fool Harry's eyes.

Harry felt himself bristling beneath his robes, and carefully blanked his face even as his eyes burned. Snape still showed blue, blue, _blue_. Many of the ingredients in the room did not, bloody red pin-pricks here and there in the gloom, and the pensieve burned _gold_ to his eyes. There was something important in there he needed to see. Important things were _always_ gold.

“The usual rules do not seem to apply with you, Potter. Typically, eye contact is essential for Legilimency, and the vast grounds and walls of Hogwarts are guarded by many ancient spells and charms to ensure the bodily and mental safety of those who dwell within them.”

He didn't mean to, but he snorted in outright disbelief, and Snape paused, narrowing his eyes at him.

Harry eyed him with bitter humour. “Well they've done shit for dick since I got here, _sir_ ,” he said scathingly.

“Do not swear in front of me, Potter. Thirty points from Gryffindor.” He shrugged, not particularly caring in the slightest. House-points.... was a useless control method to browbeat and bully students into caving to communal peer-pressure. “The curse that failed to kill you seems to have forged some kind of connection between you and the Dark Lord,” he continued to explain, as if Harry hadn't said anything. “The evidence suggests that at times, when you mind is relaxed and vulnerable – when you are asleep, for instance – you are sharing the Dark Lord's thoughts and emotions. The headmaster thinks it inadvisable for this to continue. He wishes me to teach you how to close your mind to the Dark Lord.”

“So there is a very real possibility of his being able to use the connection to force a possession, like his diary did to Ginny Weasley?” he concluded, feeling his heart thump particularly hard in his chest.

“Indeed. Which brings us back to Occlumency,” he admitted. He then drew his wand and removed several memories into the pensieve, which he then carried away to a shelf in the far corner. “Stand up and take out your wand, Potter.”

...What? No further explanation, no instruction, just...

Annoyance and a sinking feeling growing in the pit of his stomach, Harry got to his feet and drew his wand as he faced the potion's professor, the desk providing a solid barrier between them – but one that Harry knew he could clear with a single jump. If Snape tried anything, he may very well have to make his first purposeful kill as an assassin, and he really didn't want to do that right now.

“You may use your wand to attempt to disarm me, or defend yourself in any other way you can think of,” he explained, and Harry arched an eyebrow. There was a lot of talk on Snape's knowledge of the Dark Arts, not so much his skill with a wand. He was a complete combat unknown.

“And what are you going to do?” Harry asked, eyeing his wand.

“I am about to attempt to break into your mind. We are going to see how well you resist. I have been told that you have already shown aptitude at resisting the Imperius Curse. You will find that similar powers are needed for this. Now, brace yourself. _Legilimens!_ ”

Harry dropped to the floor, sliding under the spell as if he were ducking under a flying novice, or the thrust of a templar polearm.

There was a pause.

“Get on your feet, Potter,” Snape commanded silkily, and Harry pushed himself upright, frowning at him.

“That's it? You're just going to say it's similar to the _imperio_ and throw the spell at me, and expect me to figure it out myself?” he demanded shortly. “You are, without a doubt, the wor– ”

Snape struck before he had a chance to finish telling him off, or dodge the spell. The office swam around him and vanished; image after image was racing through his mind like a flickering film so vivid it blinded him to his surroundings.

He was four, washing the dishes while stood up to the kitchen sink, his stomach growling painfully as he was forced to scrape the left overs into the bin under Aunt Petunia's sharp eyes. He hadn't eaten yet that day but it was fine. Some of the food had landed in a plastic cooking tray, he could sneak out after dark and pick it out of the bin ... five, Regina, Aunt Marge's first bulldog had hold of his leg, she was shaking him furiously, and Harry was screaming. He kicked the dog in the face, and Aunt Marge roared at him, grabbing his arm and throwing him bodily into the house before rushing to tend to her stunned dog ... he was sitting under the Sorting Hat, listening to it tell him he would do well in Slytherin, but Harry remembering Dudley and how much like him that Malfoy was begged for Gryffindor ... Snape's face in the half-light of the Shrieking Shack, gleefully announcing how he was going to have Sirius and Lupin's souls ripped out ... the Basilisk, maw open, and the flash of Gryffindor's sword ... Maria Auditore's laughter and the blush on her cheeks as her sons, covered in dirt and grass-stains, presented her with wildflowers they had collected after sneaking out of Florence ... Petruccio's wet eyes as the noose was tightened around his neck –

_VAFFANCULO! NON E PER TE!_

He felt his feet land on something, his hand move, and then there was a bright flash and he was airborne – launched backwards through the air.

He twisted, managing to get his feet under him, but he fell, hitting the ground hard and tumbling backwards, arse over teakettle, and slamming his head into the stone floor.

He saw stars but rolled to the side and dove behind a table, breathing hard as he tried to get his spinning vision to stop. All that could be heard was the sound of ragged breathing, and then a rustle of robes from the front of the room, a hiss of pain.

“Did you _mean_ to throw yourself at me, Potter?” Snape demanded harshly, sounding winded. Harry must have leaped at him feet first, he remembered his hand moving – if he'd been in possession of a hidden blade, the gesture would have activated it just in time to plunge into the Potion Master's vulnerable flesh.

“Mmmf, no.”

“I thought not..... You let me in too far. You lost control.” Control of _what_? Harry wondered bitterly.

“Did you see everything I saw?” Harry demanded roughly, there had been a few of Ezio's memories there at the end. His mother, healthy and laughing, happy. Petruccio, his last moments, thirteen, pale faced and terrified, crying hard as a crowd of strangers cheered for his death for a crime he knew nothing of, that he was innocent of. Harry felt anger churn white hot once more in the pit of his stomach.

“Flashes of it. To whom did the dog belong?”

Harry did not answer as he pushed himself to his feet, scowling darkly, and watching Snape with near hostility. He did not pursue his question.

“Well. For a first attempt that was not as poor as it might have been. You managed to stop me eventually, though you wasted time and energy shouting. You must remain focused. Repel me with your brain and you will not need to resort to your wand.”

“I would _love_ to, but you are not telling me _how_ ,” he hissed out.

“Manners, Potter,” Snape said dangerously. “Now I want you to close your eyes.”

He took a breath, and closed his eyes.

“Clear your mind, Potter. Let go of all emotion...” Let go of – he was actively asking Harry to let go of his anger while doing everything he could to _inflame_ it!

He grit his teeth, feeling frustration, feeling too much and all of it too hot and too furious to calm. And then, all at once, memories of Altair, barely knee high, sat on a cushion that made his butt grow numb, fidgeting and trying to clear his mind, calm his thoughts, when all he wished to do was to go outside and practice. Meditation was boring and dull, he wanted to _do_ things! To fight!

“You're not going it, Potter!” Snape's voice snapped like a whip-crack through the air, breaking his reverie. “You will need more discipline than this! Focus now!”

His stomach burned and he wanted to tell the man to shut up and let him concentrate. But he shoved the impulse away, and tried once again to recall the threads of Altair's meditation. Now that he had thought of it, recalling those early lessons at Al Mualim's feet was easier. The calm guided practice so entirely different from the resentment filled tension present within the office, and only highlighted how poor a teacher Snape actually was.

“Let's go again. On the count of three, one – two – three – _Potter!_ You must open your _eyes_ if this is to work,” the professor hissed.

Harry ignored him, taking a deep breath and chasing memories of Al Mualim's voice, the soothing roll of Arabic filling his ears. Those first early lessons that all the children heard, the stories, and lectures. And sank deeper as his frustration smoothed away, as he followed his mentor's teachings until he achieved that calm so valued by the Order. One must be calm, to observe, to plan, and then to act. Doing so with emotion lead to sloppiness, to danger. To lives lost. Peace.

“ _POTTER!_ ”

Harry jolted, wand coming up immediately, eyes opening and Snape struck.

Nothing happened.

No. It did.

He felt it like an itch, like a buzz in the back of his eyes. And then he blinked and it was gone. And Snape stared at him with a completely unreadable expression.

“Again. And do not waste my time again by childishly keeping your eyes shut, Potter. The Dark Lord will not give you time to gather yourself, and neither shall I,” he warned softly with menace. “ _Legilimens!_ ”

The sharp swoop of anger that flashed white hot through him betrayed him, he saw Uncle Vernon trying to hammer the letterbox shut ... a hundred dementors driving across the lake towards him ... Kyra strutting towards him, eyes blown wide with interest and alcohol ... running along a windowless passage with Mister Weasley, they were drawing nearer to the plain black door at the end of the corridor and he expected to go through it, but Mister Weasley led him off to the left, down a flight of stone steps...

“The Department of Mysteries....” he gasped, coming to himself.

“What?”

He scrambled up from the floor where he had fallen to his hands and knees, “What's in the Department of Mysteries?” he demanded. Snape looked visibly unnerved for the first time that night.

“And why,” he said slowly, “would you ask about that?”

He studied the man's face carefully, the lines around his eyes, bracketing his mouth. “Because. I've been dreaming about it for months. Before I'd ever set foot into the Ministry. Voldemort wants something – ”

“ _Do not speak the Dark Lord's name!_ ”

His scar seared, and Harry breathed deep, picturing the lake as Al Mualim commanded him to as a boy, as Altair. The pain lessened.

“There are many things in the Department of Mysteries, Potter, few of which you would understand and none of which concern you. Do I make myself plain?” Snape said, attempting to sound cool and unconcerned.

“You're lying.”

Snape didn't answer him, he turned away to go and collect his pensieve. “I want you back here same time on Wednesday. We will continue work then.”

“Fine,” Harry agreed with a narrow look at him.

“You are to rid your mind of all emotion every night before sleep; empty it, make it blank and calm, you understand?”

“I will try.”

“Do not try. Do it. And be warned Potter, I shall know if you have not practised. Now get out.”

He got out.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1/ VAFFANCULO! NON E PER TE! - "Fuck off! That's not for you!"


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t be afraid to explore the shadows. You might find some hope within the hurt.” –Erin Saldin (The Girls of No Return)

When he sat down opposite Ron and Hermione in the library, the two looked at him in undisguised concern. In the reflection of the window, he looked very white, and his scar showed up more vividly than usual.

“Went great I see,” Hermione summed up, her voice flat and sarcastic with disbelief. He leaned over to lay a hand on his forehead, “You're freezing cold.”

“Yeah. That's probably the shock,” he joked stiffly. “I just realised.” He told them everything. The strange dreams a about the corridor, how he recognised it tonight while viewing the memories, how he _remembered_ that it was the same damn corridor that Mister Weasley was attacked in. “The Department of Mysteries,” he concluded softly, leaning towards them as Madam Pince swept past, gimlet eyes roving over the whispering students to make sure no nonsense was going on.

Hermione let out a long, slow breath. “Of course. Sturgis Podmore was trying to get through a door in the Ministry. It must have been that one. It's too much of a coincidence.”

Ron shook his head, “Why was he trying to break in then? If he was on our side, he wouldn't have tried to.”

“Well, I don't know,” Hermione admitted. “It _is_ a bit odd.”

“That guy in St Mungo's, Bode,” Harry said, looking at Ron. “Your dad was friends with him, I remember seeing them talking at the World Cup. He's an UNSPEAKABLE, right? Someone that actually works in the Department. He gets in a work place accident, and then someone sends him a potted Devil's Snare? Literally just as the healer says he's started to show improvement? He must have been involved somehow,” Harry whispered fiercely, chewing his lower lip as he ran his hands through his hair and scrubbed his palms against his forehead, trying to knead away the prickling ache of his scar, as if he could rub away the pins and needles sensation.

Ron frowned at them, “Okay. So. Sturgis _didn't_ work in the Department, he got hurt trying to get in. And then Bode who IS an Unspeakable has a workplace accident, and someone tries to kill him before he can talk. And all this relates to the weapon that You Know Who wants from inside. Do you think they were bewitched to try and take it? If you're under _imperio_ you can't protect yourself, even if you know there's threats. You just do as you're told.”

“Ron! You're a genius!” Hermione exclaimed, seizing his face and smacking a kiss to his lips.

“Ap pa pa! None of that within this library, Miss Granger!” Madam Pince barked, waving her wand threateningly in their direction.

“Sorry, ma'am,” the Gryffindor demurred, jumping to her feet and beginning to gather her belongings. Startled, the boys began to do the same, not really knowing why. “Come on, we can talk more in the Room,” she hissed, casting a look at the table behind them which, now that Harry had noticed, was a bit of a mixed bag of Ravenclaws and Slytherins.

The trio left the library, taking several shortcuts and hurrying down a couple of tricky twists that doubled them back a few times but also let them take some of the lesser known passageways. If anyone was following them, it was likely that they were now on the third floor wondering where the hell they'd gone.

As soon as they got into the room, Hermione seized Ron once again by the face and dragged him into a kiss, this one wholeheartedly and enthusiastically returned. Harry grinned, chuckling a little as he collected their fallen bags and carted them to the dormitories where he found his trunk waiting for him. His and both Ron and Hermione's. Looks like the house-elves had decided that since they spent so long in the Room, they may as well live there.

He smiled a little shakily and after tossing their bags down, opened up his trunk. Finding Sirius's package set on top of everything. He had put it in there, intending on opening it, but never getting around to it because Dean and Seamus were in the Gryffindor Dormitories, and being nosy.

Sitting back, he unpicked the tape and tugged the awful wrapping job off. A mirror slid into his lap, nothing fancy. A regular hand-mirror with a black frame that could be picked up in any superdrug store in England. He tilted it a bit to see if any runes showed up in the light, if there was a scrap of paper hidden under the frame, but nothing.

“What's that?” Ron asked, breathless and rumpled as both he and Hermione came in.

“It was a present from Sirius before we left,” Harry explained, looking up at them. “He said to use it in an emergency, but I'm not sure what kind of emergency I'd use a mirror for.”

“Maybe it's a scrying tool?” Hermione suggested, bending down beside him, hands on her knees.

“Maybe,” Harry agreed, turning back to the mirror and then yelping when he realised there was a face not his own in the material. “ _Sirius!_ ”

“I know what that is!” Ron exclaimed, “It's a two-way mirror!”

“Got it in one, Ron!” Sirius cheered through the mirror, grinning at them. “Sorry Harry, I should have realised you wouldn't know what it was and written you a note.”

“That's okay Sirius. How are you?” he asked eagerly, shuffling to make space for his friends to cluster up behind him.

“Lonely, boring to be honest. But I took your advice. Charmed my hair red and took a walk, just around the block,” he explained with a smile. He sighed in relief, “It was so cold, but I don't think I've enjoyed _walking_ so much before in my life. Just.... just being able to kick at snow-drifts was amazing. My feet hurt a good'un when I got back though,” he admitted with a barking laugh.

“I'm glad,” Harry said warmly.

“How was your first Occlumency lesson?” he asked, interested. “Snape didn't give you any trouble, did he?”

“No more than usual, promise,” Harry assured him. “But, see, we figured something out. Podmore and Bode were _imperio'_ d to try and get whatever was in the Department of Mysteries.”

Sirius's face fell.

“How – how did you figure that?” he asked warily, sounding upset.

Harry gave him a flat look, “Do I look like an idiot, Sirius? The Order aren't exactly discreet. We overheard you all talking about Podmore and how he was an Order member meant to _guard_ the door, only he tried to get in. Then I remembered that Bode was a friend of Mister Weasley, they spoke at the World Cup last year. He has a work place accident in the Department of Mysteries, ends up in Spell Damage, and someone sends him a potted Devil's Snare as a Christmas Present just as he starts showing improvement, figuring out how to talk again? That stinks, Sirius. Suspiciously so. We're not stupid. Not only that, but I've been dreaming of that corridor since summer. Voldemort's obsessed with it. I didn't recognise it until Snape made me relive some memories earlier, Mister Weasley was taking me for my hearing back in August and we passed that very door on our way to Courtroom Ten.”

Sirius had his face in his hands by the time Harry was finished, he didn't seem to know if he should be laughing or crying.

“You are so scarily like your mother sometimes, Harry. You look so much like James, it's easy to forget, and then you come out with something like this, and it hits me in the face,” he laughed helplessly. “I don't know what to tell you, Harry. It's Order business and until you've got this Occlumency thing down pat, it's too dangerous to share information out liberally.” He looked like he would have wanted nothing more than to reach in through the mirror to hug him. “Maybe once you've got it down pat, I can bend the rules and tell you a little more.”

“Promise?” Harry asked pointedly.

Sirius laughed, “I do so solemnly Swear,” he intoned playfully.

Harry grinned.

 

* * *

 

They stayed up a while longer to talk to Sirius, complaining about classes and homework before Hermione reminded them that they had transfiguration first thing in the morning. They bade their goodbyes, and even though he was completely loath to do anything that Snape told him to, Harry spent the next hour before bed trying to clear his mind, not as Snape so _unhelpfully_ commanded, but as Al Mualim taught him. It was made difficult when Ron and Hermione were right there, occasionally they would talk, quietly, but then Hermione started kissing him, and it got a great deal harder to ignore the two.

He felt an odd stab of pain and joy that had him slapping a hand over his scar, but thankfully, it passed.

It only became more apparent just why Voldemort had been so happy the night before when the Daily Prophet arrived at breakfast the next morning.

 

_MASS BREAKOUT FROM AZKABAN_

_MINISTRY FEARS BLACK IS 'RALLYING POINT'_

_FOR OLD DEATH EATERS_

 

Harry stared down at the images of the men and women that escaped the previous night while he was chatting happily to Sirius, while he was sat in bed trying not to be distracted as Ron and Hermione did their level best to do just that beside him.

Antonin Dolohov, Algernon Rookwood, Bellatrix Lestrange, Rabastian Lestrange, Rudolfus Lestrange – the list of names was long, the pictures of ragged and gaunt looking witches and wizards cackling and jeering out from the newspaper as if they knew damn well they were terrifying the children who were now realising just how dangerous their world had suddenly become. Many of them were now glancing his way with new eyes.

“Harry,” Susan Bones greeted, sweeping towards him from the Hufflepuff table. “We need to talk. Can I steal him away for a moment?” she asked, looking to Ron and Hermione.

The Gryffindor witch nodded, “Sure. Don't traumatise him too badly. I'm not finished with him.”

Her smile was thin, “Wouldn't dream of it, Granger.”

Feeling off-kilter and a little hunted, Harry got to his feet and followed the Hufflepuff girl out into the entrance hall where she led him into the antechamber that the first years usually waited in before going to the Opening Ceremony at the start of every year. She closed the door and cast several privacy charms on the wood before turning to face him.

“I told my Aunt you showed me what happened at the Third Task,” she stated without preamble. “She's the Head of the DMLE, Fudge might have tied her hands, but what happened to Cedric is still under investigation. She wants to come to Hogwarts in order to talk to you about it but Dumbledore is blocking her at every turn. Are you free this Hogsmeade weekend?” she asked straightly. “If he won't let Auntie into the school to conduct her interview, would you be willing to do it in Hogsmeade?”

Harry stared at her before he nodded, “Sure.” And then an idea occurred to him. “But only if she does something for me.”

Susan frowned at him and folded her arms, “I'm listening.”

“I know who Wormtail is, his real identity,” he said. “But he's currently registered as a dead man. I want her to reopen that case. I'll show her everything that happened during the Third Task. But I'm also going to show her the confrontation I had with Sirius Black in our Third Year.”

Her jaw dropped. “You – Sirius Black – I thought that was just a _rumour_!”

Harry's smile was thin and humourless, “Deal?” he asked.

Susan shook her head, flabberghasted, “She – she'd want to see it anyway. You mean to tell me, you met him, and he _didn't_ try to kill you?” she demanded breathlessly.

Harry laughed. “No. He didn't. Tell her to bring a pensieve. I don't know if I can take the one in the Room out, and the only other people I know with them is Dumbledore and Snape. So let's not ask them.”

Susan nodded slowly, “I think they keep one or two in the DMLE for incident reporting. I'll pass it on.” She turned to begin unlocking the door before pausing, and then looking back at him. “Sorry for ruining whatever plans you had at Hogsmeade with Weasley and Granger. I know first dates are important....”

Harry shrugged helplessly, “I was actually planning on doing it the day before. Hogsmeade weekends are a bit too hectic for doing something nice. And with everyone running around, privacy would be impossible. I don't want my love life plastered across the newspaper.”

Susan smirked a little, “Not after last time.”

“No. Not after last time,” he agreed wryly, and she took down all the wards to let him escape back to his breakfast.

Hermione wasn't there when he got back.

“Gone to send a letter,” Ron stated around a mouth full of scrambled egg and toast. “What did Bones want?” he asked curiously, craning his head to watch the red headed girl march off.

“Her aunt wants to interview me, but Dumbledore keeps refusing to give her access. She asked if I could meet her at Hogsmeade and do it there,” he explained quietly as he grabbed his orange juice and finished it off before grabbing his bag. “C'mon, better get a move onto Charms. We'll tell McGonagall Hermione's in the girls bathroom. She won't ask questions,” he said with a shake of his head.

Over the next few days, the only thing people wanted to talk about were the escaped Death Eaters. For those who came from wizarding families, who had grown up hearing the names of these people spoken with almost as much fear as Voldemort's, the crimes they had committed during the days of his up-rising were legendary, in all the worst ways. There were relatives of their victims currently amongst the students, and now found themselves the unwilling objects of a gruesome reflected fame, questioned and stared at and whispered of behind hands and indiscreet ogling. Susan, whose parents, uncle, aunt, and cousins had all died at the hands of one of the ten was particularly miserable, and badgered, as her current guardian, her Aunt, was the head of the DMLE, said miserably during a training session in the Room as Harry balanced atop a beam and watched her walk the balance beams that she finally had an idea of what it felt like to be him over these last few years.

“I don't know how you stand it – it's horrible,” she stated bluntly before jumping off the end of the beam to catch the next one.

“You kinda.... white noise it, after a while,” Harry admitted with an awkward shrug. He too had become the subject of much renewed muttering and pointing in the corridors. The attention was less hostile now, more curious, there was a definite change to the tone and more than once now he had heard arguments and disagreements between people who wanted more information, or didn't feel that the Prophet was giving them all the facts. Hermione always looked intensely interested when these conversations popped up. But for the most part, Harry found the attention tiring, and _annoying_ , so he was more often in the Room.

The rest of the DA seemed to follow his example, and it wasn't long before someone else moved into the Room along with them. Misty Luna Lovegood drifted in one day with her trunk floating along behind her and took a bed on the top floor of the dormitories, quietly informing her that the Nargles in Ravenclaw Tower had been particularly mischievous of late. All the changes to the environment you see, and she was getting somewhat fed up of constantly having to go looking for her missing belongings. Hermione didn't seem too keen on it, but Ron immediately took the younger girl under his wing so to speak, and quietly informed them later that Ginny told her that 'Nargles' was one of Luna's code words for bullies. That had Hermione bristling with wrath like someone flipped a light-switch in her.

When Harry and Ron got back from the baths that evening, they found her teaching Luna how to use the Summoning Charm, and how to tag her belongings with identification charms. They exchanged looks and grins, and left the two girls to their strange form of bonding as Luna dreamily wondered about the merits of rewriting the Point Me charm, and Hermione went scrambling for parchment.

Neville was the next to come in.

The news of his parents' attackers' escape had wrought a strange and even slightly alarming change in him. He had not once mentioned his meeting with Harry, Ron, and Hermione on the closed ward in St Mungo's and, taking their lead from him, they had kept quiet about it too. Nor had he said anything on the subject of Bellatrix and her fellow torturers' escape. In fact, Neville barely spoke during the training sessions anymore, but worked relentlessly on every new jinx and counter-curse Harry taught them, his rapidly slimming face screwed up in concentration, indifferent to injuries or accidents, and working harder than anyone else in the room. He was improving on his magic so fast it was quite unnerving, and when harry taught them the Shield Charm, only Hermione mastered it faster than Neville who had also thrown himself into his physical training to such a degree that sometimes both Harry and Ron had to physically pick him up and take his exhausted, battered body into the baths, and even help him bathe and dress before putting him to bed.

The argument that nearly broke out when Harry prevented him from joining in the training was... unpleasant. Neville looked like he was about to cry, and Harry had to pull him to one side and tell him to calm down, dial it back, before he hurt or crippled himself through work. He was pushing himself too hard, and he was going to ruin what progress he'd made already if he wasn't careful. Two days, he was to relax. He was do focus on nothing more than his school work, and do nothing more strenuous than – than plant flowers. In fact. Harry took him down to Madam Sprout and asked for a few clippings of the more benign plants for Neville to tend in their dormitories. He needed something to take his mind off things.

And that was how the Room ended up with a lot of hanging baskets of greens, and people thought it was a great idea.

Before long, they decided that just conjuring water above them was boring, and so took to using their running and climbing skills to get high enough to water them personally. It resulted in a few amusing injuries, and the first laugh they had gotten out of Neville since the newspaper came out when he found Hannah Abbott dangling upside down, trying to hold her robes in place with one hand and water a hanging basket with the other.

By now, everyone had finished running the poles, and with those basics under their belts, they were making great progress in the aerial course. Several of them had managed to climb the leaps, and were working their way up the platforms, getting themselves used to the plummet and the impact of the water. But for the few who had managed to make the true Leap of Faith, they were starting to get a little bored.

At least until the twins got it into their heads to start enchanting the assault courses to change, or spew fire, or custard, or grow slippery and oily at the drop of a hat.

Suddenly the poles became that much more difficult, and hilarious, to try and conquer.

Marietta Edgecomb approached him with Padma Patil and Cho in order to ask him for access to Altair's memories not long before Valentine's Day.

“He had the Apple of Eden for so long, and it showed him so much,” she explained earnestly. “That's knowledge we can use, Harry! I think the metal alloy he developed for his armour has some real promise. I'd like to see if we can't make our own using his memories as a blue-print,” she said.

Hermione lit up, and Harry knew it would be happening whether he liked it or not, so he let the egg-heads have at the library and the memory chamber even as he turned to deal with the newest disaster in the making that was Colin and Dennis Creevey deciding to get into the training weapons. The two had been playing with them on and off since they first appeared, but were generally more keen on figuring out their _magical_ combat than their physical.

The problem now was that Harry could see the shadow of Kassandra beside them, beaming like a proud mama bear as they grabbed at weapons and fell all over themselves to play with them. Beside her, Altair, elderly, indulgent, shook his head in good natured exasperation. Harry didn't need to be a lip-reader to see him mouth the words ' _they'll hurt themselves before they harm an enemy like that_ '. Harry pretended not to see them even as he scruffed Dennis and threw him into the sandpit, the tiny thirteen year old sailing through the air with a gleeful shriek.

“ _En garde!_ ” Colin cried, grinning as he held his sword out.

Feeling reckless, and his actual age for the first time in a long time, Harry grabbed the nearest sword from the practice rack and faced him. From the corner of his eye he watched as Kassandra mirrored his stance, and then adjusted it. It was reflex to follow suit, to mirror her. She nodded approvingly and held her arms up, sword at the ready, in the same position as him, and then changed to something slightly different. He followed suit.

And then Colin attacked, and Harry found himself parrying the strike easily – not that Colin was actually _trying_ to land a hit on him, they were just playing. But all the same, it was easy to mirror Kassandra's neat, playful little twist behind him, and bring the flat of his practice sword swinging around with the same flick of his wrist –

and slap his fellow Gryffindor across the ass with it.

Colin yelped in surprise, and their onlookers laughed.

Harry grinned and made a come-hither gesture, once again mirroring Kassandra in the corner of his eye.

Perhaps.... perhaps it was time they started looking into weapons' practice?

 

 


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Deeds, not words.” –John Fletcher (The Lover’s Progress)

Occlumency lessons with Snape were still.... difficult. Outside of that room he didn't seem to have a problem with clearing and settling his mind, but as soon as he was with the Potion's Master it became a trial to contain his temper. Having actually _taught_ the DA, witnessed Altair, Ezio, and Ratonhnhake:ton teach and mentor their new recruits, many of them quite young, watch Jacob, Evie's twin brother, 'teach' his Rooks how to better fight the templars, he had an idea of what constituted a decent teacher. Snape was not one. And it was that knowledge coupled with his anger towards the man that made Occlumency in his presence so difficult.

His scar would hurt after every session, but ease as soon as he was far away from him. After the first time he didn't meditate after a session he found himself delving full tilt, walking down that corridor, standing longingly outside that door, he never forgot to settle himself before going to sleep.

He would have liked to teach the other DA members Occlumency, it seemed like the ideal mind-art for an organisation of assassins, especially given how it would only help them to resist the pull of any Isu technology they happened to run across. But given how it had done precious little for Harry so far, and he was as far from a master as one could be, there was little point in attempting to teach them, surely all they would learn from him was bad habits.

Or so he thought, until Smith popped up and shoved a book at him.

“I found this while looking up Truth Serum antidotes, just in case Umbridge wakes up, y'know? It looks like it'd definitely be useful!” the blond gushed excitedly.

A _Guide to Advanced Occlumency,_ by Maxwell Barnett.

Unbelievable. All this time and there was actually a text book on it in the Room.

“Thanks Zach. This will.... definitely be useful. I didn't even know there were books on this subject,” he admitted, eagerly cracking it open. It looked dense, a few diagrams here and there, but packed tight with small writing with even smaller footnotes at the bottom of the page. This was going to take some effort to get through. Harry was _not_ the most studious of boys, even amidst the Gryffindors.

He took the book and found a quiet spot to read – a pillow in the upper-reaches of the library, on a windowsill ledge far out of sight, and got stuck in studying. It was.... certainly illuminating.

Snape said the mind wasn't a book that could be opened and examined at leisure, he was both right and wrong on that front. It was most definitely a complex and multi-layered thing. Legilimency was a _spell_ used to skim surface thoughts, capable of being cast wordlessly and wandlessly, requiring only eye-contact between caster and victim. The saying ' _eyes are the window to the soul_ ' was both accurate and inaccurate, the soul could only be pulled out from the core of a person through their mouth, but their _minds_ were certainly accessible through the eyes. Windows indeed. Legilimency allowed the caster to see through the windows of that person's mental house. Whatever was within their consciousness at that moment in time, in that particular window, would be visible. But there was the rest of the building left unseen, unexplored.

True mind-walking was to go up to the door, and walk inside.

What Snape was doing, in trying to teach Harry to draw his mental curtains, so to speak, by hammering on the glass and drawing his attention to the intrusion, was 'cracking' his windows. Rattling them loose in their frames. And what Harry had been doing every night afterwards was cleaning up the broken glass the man left behind.

Annoyingly, this was not a beginner's text, so there was no advice on how to properly perform the technique to draw the mental 'shutters' on his windows. Instead, what there were in the book were advanced focusing techniques and mental exercises to better organise his mind and assist in resisting truth serums, fighting off mental possession, and even how to build a 'mind palace'.

With a single book and one evening, he made more progress with his Occlumency than three weeks with Snape.

But, he had promised Sirius and Lupin that he would _try_. So as dismal as he found the lessons, he continued to attend them, grit his teeth, and apply himself. He had to keep reminding himself of good things to look forward to in order to get through them.

He was still struggling about what to do for Valentine's Day when the twins ambushed him late one evening after practice, cornering him while Ron and Hermione were in the baths.

“Soooo, _Mentore_! Our beloved intrepid, skilled, kind – ” Fred began as George slung an arm around his shoulder and steered him a full hundred-and-eighty degrees around to walk him into the infirmary instead of the bath-hall he had originally been aiming for.

“What did you break?” Harry demanded flatly, cutting him off before he could finish attempting to butter him up, already feeling the headache beginning to needle behind his eyeballs.

“Nothing! Nothing!” Fred was quick to reassure, “We think.” That was not reassuring.

Harry rubbed furiously at his face, “What happened?” he asked.

“Well, you see, there's the thing, we don't.... we don't _know,_ ” George admitted quietly, slipping away from him to go and stand with his brother. The two were uncustomarily grim faced, and looking a little uncomfortable as they perched themselves atop one of the medical beds next to each other. Harry frowned in worry, hopping up to sit on the bed opposite. This wasn't anything ordinary, nor was it anything along the lines of their other, ahem, _difficulties_ regarding their joke sweets.

“Sounds serious,” he noted, and placed his hands together between his knees, fingertips together, and gave them time to figure out what they were trying to say.

George rolled his muscular shoulders, he had gained an awful lot of bulk during their training, both of them had, they seemed to be taking after Charlie in being stout and powerful while Ron seemed to be chasing Bill's heels to become tall and _almost_ lanky – he could no longer make claim to that word given how much he too had bulked up. “See, we have our _theories_ , and really, you're the only other person who's been in the memories as much as we have,” he admitted, making Harry stiffen a little and eye them narrowly. He shrugged awkwardly, “Fred and I have been going into Ezio's memories a lot, we wanted to learn how to sweet talk the ladies, y'know? He's like, amazing at it so – ” he made a helpless 'what do you want from me' kind of gesture that made him roll his eyes. Yes, Ezio could sweet-talk his way into a Nunnery and leave it as a Brothel within a week.

“So we'd sneak in and have a gander at his memories, learn how to woo the ladies. Only....” Fred trailed off, sharing a look with his twin and then peering at Harry with nervous desperation. “Only now we've started seeing him _outside_ the memories. In here. We just – have... have _you_ been seeing people too?” he asked and Harry felt his stomach twist up into knots of anxiety.

“Yes. Yes I have. You been you've been seeing Ezio out and about? Has he been doing anything? Said anything?” he asked, leaning forward even as the twins relaxed in relief to know they weren't alone.

Fred shook his head, “He says stuff, but we can't hear him. Totally silent.”

“And it's him when he's _young_ too,” George added, which made Harry pause. He had only ever seen Ezio when he was older, tired, the Mentore, not the young man he once had been. “Sometimes we see him when he's older, but, that's usually at a distance when we're not paying attention. Most of the time when we're trying to talk to girls he's right there, grinning, and gesturing like he's having the time of his life.”

“Watching you fail miserably at getting a date is probably the most entertainment he's ever _had_ in his life,” Fred teased with a wide grin that had his brother punching him in the leg, George smacked him back.

“You haven't seen any of the others?” Harry interrupted before they could devolve into more violence.

“Others?” George asked.

“Altair, Kassandra, Ratonhnhake:ton – ”

“You see all of them?” Fred asked, alarmed.

Harry nodded. Thus far, Arno was actually the quietest of the Assassins. Harry had only seen him perched on the rafters watching them below with sad eyes and a downturned mouth. Edward Kenway seemed largely uninterested in them all, but Harry would sometimes see him listening to the more wild tales being thrown around in the dining room with a grin on his face, his foot up on the table. Evie had taken to following Hermione around, and once the girl-gang of geniuses formed up, she couldn't have looked more proud or enthusiastic of them.

The twins exchanged looks, “I suppose that makes sense.... You spend a buttload of time in _all_ of their memories, not just Ezio's,” George mused before clearing his throat and looking at him, “So uh.... _Kassandra_.... What's she been up to?” he asked, interested, and attempting to play it cool.

Harry stared at him, “Teaching me how to wield swords,” he stated bluntly with amusement.

He paled. “Cool, cool, cool, very cool, yeah.”

Fred snickered.

That seemed to be the end of the serious conversation subject, the twins then going on to ask him about what exactly Kassandra had been demonstrating to him to learn, but it still lingered worryingly in the back of Harry head. He didn't know what was happening to him, why he was seeing them. They certainly weren't ghosts, but they weren't memories or wraiths or shades like in the pensieve or like Voldemort was when not inhabiting a vessel. If he could call them anything, it would be.... an untethered Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets, except, not? Because they weren't feeding off them – or were they?

That thought had him waking suddenly in the middle of the night with terror.

What if they _were?_

Those memories told them they were all good people, but they were still killers, their actions were always justified, but that was in their own minds. What if it was all a trap? You think they're good people, you view their memories, you view them again and again and again by engineering a threat, or information to be gained, or some kind of... voyeurism. And the more you do so, the more they feed off you like the diary did on Ginny?

He slid himself out of his bedding and moved the blankets back into place so Hermione wouldn't notice the draft. The run up to the office was short, and chilly, and he _Neville_ of all people face-down in the bowl. Ratonhnhake:ton's memory bottle on the table beside him.

Harry patted his shoulder pointedly, giving him a moment to realise he was being disturbed before hauling him out by the back of his robes.

“Sorry Nev,” he said to the brunet as he gasped and shivered, shaking himself like a wet dog even though there was no fluid clinging to him at all. He dragged his hair back up off his forehead, looking pale and flushed all at once as he shook his head.

“S'okay. What's wrong?” he asked roughly, feverish brown eyes watching him carefully.

Harry grimaced, “Something the twins said to me earlier has me worried. I'm restricting access to the memories until I can make sure they're safe,” he explained with a wary look at the pensieve and the pictures.

“The twins?” Neville asked sceptically.

He nodded, “They were worried about something, told me, and I.... came to some worrying conclusions. I need to do a bit more research before I say one way or the other,” he said and began to scoop the memories back into their decanter. “Sorry Nev. But until I'm sure, no one is going into this pensieve.”

He looked down at his feet before looking back up, “Is this because of the echoes?” he asked warily.

Harry felt his heart sink as he turned to look at him.

Neville looked a bit uncomfortable. “I've seen him, Ratonhnhake:ton, here and there. Bayek too.”

He closed his eyes and rubbed his face, “I – yeah. Yeah it's because of that. I'm... They're clearly not ghosts. They're not actually memories. They're not wraiths either. But they're similar to _something_ I've seen before. And it nearly killed Ginny back in our second year. It was practically eating the life-force out of her. Like a Dementor but slowly. I – just want to make sure everyone is safe, and that isn't what's happening here.”

He nodded slowly, “I don't think that's what's going on. But, if you want to make sure....”

“I do.” Harry stoppered the bottle and then, for added measure, conjured a lid that he then put over the pensieve before turning around to look solemnly at Neville. “I – I brought you all in here. I showed you this stuff, took you into those memories. If anything happens to you because of that, it's _my_ fault. You're my friends, I don't – I don't – ” he struggled, trying to find a way to articulate his feelings. He didn't want to see them get hurt. He didn't want it to be _his_ fault. “I'd rather check and be _wrong_ , then not check and.... and have someone die, or worse.”

“You're a good friend, Harry,” Neville said, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling.

He wished he could believe that.

A good friend would have checked _first_.

He smiled weakly, and gestured for them to leave. Once outside, he laid the most complicated locking charm he knew of on the door – and then stuck the tip of his wand into the keyhole and melted the mechanisms into place. Unless someone thought to vanish the door, or the handle and lock, the door would not be opening any time soon.

Neville went to get himself a shower before going back to bed, and Harry visited the toilets before attempting to go back to sleep.

He curled up once again under their shared bedding, feeling all together too hot under the blankets, and stared up at the wooden ceiling above him in silence. He heard Neville come in after a few minutes, he climbed the stairs to the second floor and took a bed towards the back of the room, in the corner. He had turned it into a miniature garden with the sheer number of potted plants he had in there. But....

He couldn't sleep.

Harry scowled at the ceiling, feeling far too restless now for sleep.

Eventually, he slithered once again out of the bedding and went to the practice hall. Once upon a time ago, he might have felt uncomfortable in the absolute empty room, might have felt as though he were somewhere he wasn't allowed. Like sneaking into the kitchen at number 4 once everyone had gone to bed. But here, now, he felt none of that. And the fact that he didn't made it stand out all the more in his mind as something he _should_ have felt. Because he felt it _everywhere_ else.

He ignored the shades lingering within the room as he collected a practice sword. Feeling the leather wraps under his hands, the faint grit of sand under his bare feet as he walked across the stone, the weight of the wooden blade, it's core of metal to give it the right balance and heft.

He swung it a few times, spotting the way Kassandra and Ezio, young and smooth faced, perked up and immediately moved towards him. He scowled and swung a little harder, acting as though he didn't see them, and his wooden blade nearly went through them – Kassandra hopped backwards in slightly surprise while Ezio ducked under it to twist behind him. Not quite as agile or smooth as his elder self, but the promise was there. He ignored them a little more pointedly from then on, moving into stances and movements he recalled from the memories, correcting himself when something didn't _feel_ quite right.

He didn't know how long he worked, at some point he stopped ignoring the memories, and instead began to follow their direction. Altair, young, haughty, barely five feet in height, eventually overshadowed Kassandra and Ezio. His form bleeding through them as if they weren't even there, making Harry's eyes blur and ache until the three separated once more. They didn't seem to be aware of one another.

Harry practised until he didn't.

Until he heard giggling and felt someone touching his hair, and woke up on the floor, curled up in a sandpit, hugging his practice sword, and peering up into Hermione's smiling, disbelieving, face.

The worry about the echoes and the pensieve consumed the rest of the week, along with managing the backlash that sealing the door had caused – turned out that it wasn't _just_ Neville and the twins who had been sneaking in unannounced to rewatch the memories. Ginny had been going in hoping to glean as much combat knowledge out of Kassandra as she feasibly could. Dean Thomas had been going into Ezio's memories to geek out over Leonardo Da Vinci and Michaelangelo. Anthony Goldstein had been delving into Ratonhnhake:ton in order to detail everything he could about life in the americas during the war, he was practically spitting mad about how Harry couldn't withhold information like that, it was _wrong!_ Something that Ernie Macmillan agreed with, and the murderous girl geniuses supported as well.

Harry refused them all, reminding them that he brought them into this room, he was responsible for their safety, and until he was certain that there was nothing there that could harm them, none of them were getting access to the memories. Even _he_ couldn't access them, not without making it possible for all of them, and like he said, not happening until he knew it was safe.

He dug out every book he could find on pensieves, occlumency, mind-magic, and memory that he could find. And even though the pile of books was small, he found it..... difficult to go through it. Often times having to cram the information in like he would have if he had been studying History of Magic before end of year exams.

He was so absorbed in his frantic research, that it wasn't until the very morning on the weekend when Susan appeared in the room as he read at the dining room table, plate of toast to one side, large mug of hot chocolate in front of him, and a book where his plate should have been, notes to the right, scowling in exhausted irritation at the paragraph in front of him that looked like it had been worded by an illiterate gibbon with a missing eye and depth perception issues, that he even realised it was the Hogsmeade weekend.

“...Somehow I knew you'd forget,” the red head noted with amusement as she sat opposite him.

Harry jolted a little, almost blotting his notes with ink before he swore and jerked away from the page. “Sorry, Sue. You were saying?” he asked, putting his quill down and giving her about as much attention as he could.

“What _have_ you been researching? I don't think I've ever seen you this studious before,” she said instead, picking up one of the books from his little stack. Frowning at the title declaring it to be a tome on the construction of pensieves.

The Gryffindor reached for his drink, “People have been seeing things,” he explained tiredly. “I thought it was just me at first, but then the twins admitted to seeing it too, then Neville. I got worried because after the incident where Ginny almost had her entire soul and life-force eaten out of her by some kind of shade, I didn't want to run the risk of it happening to anyone else. So I sealed the library office until I know for certain that these echoes we're all seeing aren't harmful,” he detailed flatly before taking another mouthful of his hot chocolate and scowling at his notes. “It's.... slow going. I'm more of a doer than a researcher.”

“I'll say,” she agreed before sliding the book back onto the pile. “I can't say I've been seeing things myself, but I have noticed a few people watching things out the corners of their eyes, pretending to be casual while obviously being freaked out. I don't think you four are the only ones.”

He snorted bitterly, “I know we're not. Ron and Hermione probably are, they've been in those memories as often as me. I'd be shocked if Marietta, Cho, and Padma weren't either. Ginny too. She's been watching Kassandra to try and figure out her moves,” he explained, seeing the look of confusion on the Hufflepuff's face.

She nodded. “Lot of people. Maybe you should make an announcement when we get back, ask for volunteers to help you research this,” she suggested as she got to her feet.

Harry frowned, “Get back? What do – are we going somewhere?” he asked suspiciously.

“Yeah. It's the Hogsmeade weekend, Harry? You're meeting my Aunt at eleven, remember?” she asked pointedly with humour as his face immediately went ashen.

“Crap, I completely forgot!”

She chuckled, “That's understandable. You've had your head so far into these bo– ”

“It's Valentine's Day!”

She paused at that, and then her eyes widened. “Ah. Yes. I can't see why... uh.” She rubbed her chin looking worried on his behalf. “Do you have any money on you?” she asked.

He blinked at her and then nodded. He had about ten galleons.

“Right. Get dressed. Wrap your toast or whatever. Meet me down in the Entrance Hall. If we go early enough, you can pick something up for Weasley and Granger before meeting Auntie,” she told him.

Good idea. He nodded and stuffed both slices of blackcurrent jam toast into his mouth, to her noisy disgust and astonishment, chomping them quickly to nothing before necking his hot chocolate, wiping his chin, and bolting for the dormitories. He dressed warmly, grabbed his two-way mirror, and his money bag.

“Sirius?! C'mon! Wake up! Shit, I should have told you about this sooner, I'm such an idiot!” he cursed, holding the mirror up as he ran out of the room.

“Mmmza? Harry? It's ass o'clock in the morning,” Sirius's voice complained, and a quick glance down as he shoved the heavy brotherhood doors open showed he was still in bed, and shirtless as well.

“It's barely eight, Sirius,” Harry corrected as he took a corner.

“Are you _running_? The hell are you running for Harry, you okay?” he asked, suddenly much more alert.

“No, I'm going to die because I forgot it was Valentine's Day this weekend, I've done absolutely nothing for either Ron or Hermione, I don't _know_ what to do for Ron or Hermione, and I have a meeting with Amelia Bones in two hours where I'll hopefully be able to convince her that you're innocent in exchange for information on the third task – sorry Nick!” he shouted as he took a corner and ran _through_ the Gryffindor Ghost. Nearly Headless Nick called out a 'don't worry about it', and Harry took the stairs at a run, leaping down to the landing below, making a couple of passing girls coming from the direction of Ravenclaw tower squeal.

“Valentine's – wait, hold up, a meeting with Amelia Bones?!” Sirius demanded, now fully sat up in bed, gripping the mirror in both hands. Harry could see the edge of a black muggle tribal tattoo on his upper arm, and a bunch of nasty scars crawling up his chest and shoulder.

“No one is _doing_ anything, Sirius!” he snapped as he turned down a secret passage way that would let him by-pass one of the more trafficked corridors. It would take him up a floor, but there was a staircase that would lead him back down to a quieter part of the third floor. “Dumbledore says Voldemort is back and expects people to just take his word for it when they need bloody proof. Susan Bones, her niece, is in my year. I'm teaching her defence. She knows what happened that night and she told her Aunt. In exchange for telling her everything that happened, for showing her everything in a pensieve, she's going to reopen your case – with the knowledge that Pettigrew is alive, and working for Voldemort.”

“Harry – the Order's plans – ”

“Tell me a single plan that _requires_ you to be thought of as a criminal and locked away in that house permanently while the rest of the world has no idea an illegal unregistered animagus Death Eater is running around. Tell me and I'll call it off. Just say yes or no, Sirius,” he commanded shortly, jumping down the final flight of stairs to the ground floor.

Sirius was, tellingly, silent.

Harry nodded as he slowed to a jog not far from the entrance hall.

“Look. I brought the mirror with me so that once I'd shown Madam Bones everything, once I was sure whether or not she was on our side, you could actually talk to her. And you'd be _safe_ to do so. You can't go in person, so this is the next best thing,” he explained gently, leaning back against the wall. “It was the only way I could think of you getting this interview safely. And if she's not buying it, if I don't think she'll at least investigate properly, then I won't bring it out at all. But she needs to know exactly what Death Eaters are there. And if I can show her the truth of what happened....”

“I.... I could be exonerated....” Sirius trailed off breathlessly, weakly, as if he couldn't believe his luck, as if he didn't believe it was even happening.

Harry nodded, and then grimaced, “You weren't even convicted, Sirius. You _can't_ be exonerated. But they can sure as hell back the fuck off. Before I do something a lot more proactive,” he added in a growl.

Sirius laughed wetly.

“You'll have to survive the weekend before you can do that. Didn't you forget it's Valentine's?” he reminded him, and Harry groaned, thumping his head back against the wall, making him laugh. “James did the exact same thing on his first date with your mother. He got so absorbed in the Quidditch cup he forgot to plan anything.”

Harry eyed him hopefully, “What did he do instead?”

“Built her a snow palace with magic and bought a ton of chocolate for them to share inside it,” he admitted with a wistful smile. “Me and Remus had to keep telling the other students to go away when they came along to look at the snow castle.”

Harry grimaced, “Sounds nice. But there's no snow left, it all melted.”

Sirius shrugged, “Dates don't always have to be fancy like that, Harry. A couple of chocolates, a card, and a few drinks at the Three Broomsticks. It's the thought that counts.”

“But they _know_ I think about them. That I care. I want to _show_ it too.”

“You're a bit young for anything else I can think of, pup,” he admitted with a small grimace that immediately had Harry going red and huffing.

“Gross. Ugh.” He peeked around the corner into the entrance hall, spotting Susan waiting for him. “I need to go. I'll.... I'll think of something. I've got a bit of time before the meeting.” He looked critically at his godfather, “Put something nice on, Padfoot. I'm not going to hand her the mirror if you're still shirtless and unbrushed later.”

“Ah, yes. And Harry?”

He paused, about to put the mirror in his pocket along with his fanged money pouch.

“Thanks....”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY
> 
> sorry about the three day delay on chapters. As those of you who follow me on tumblr and facebook know, I got back from my parents and had to take a few days to clean the depression pit that was my room. Long story short, a friend's shower broke, she has OCD and claustrophobia. I offered my shower for her to use. En-suite bathroom door must be open. Room looks like a bomb-site. Horrifically bad. Friend will have panic attack if she sees it. Cue me going "MUST CLEAN" for three days straight. It took a bit longer than anticipated due to a bunch of little things, but it is now clean and tidy. There is even a video on my facebook where you can see the progress made if you want proof of what I've been doing XDD
> 
> I can't promise we'll go back to an update a day schedule. I'll try. But I've already had other fandom's tugging on my brain in the short length of time I've been picking up all my old notebooks and sheets of paper with multitudes of unwritten ideas on them - and I've also found some original fiction ideas that I DESPERATELY want to play with.


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